From the Ashes
by XSouthernxComfortX
Summary: From the pages of book a new destiny emerges. HBP compliant. HP/LV Warnings: Slash
1. Chapter 1

****DISCLAIMER: I do NOT nor will I ever own Harry Potter.****

The infirmary was dark; the only source of light was that of the moon. Its silver rays were pouring through the row of windows across the room, illuminating three sleeping faces. It was late, maybe three or four in the morning if Harry had to guess, and nobody else was present. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, everyone was asleep…yet despite the late hour Harry couldn't relax his mind enough to drift back off into sweet oblivion.

Harry's gaze was locked on his limbs that were illuminated just enough for him to see the scars that marred his pale skin. A large gash was on his right palm from some injury he had received in his first year, trying to save the damned Sorcerer's Stone. Several burns littered different places on both hands from "learning" how to cook for the Dursley's. On the back of his right hand, carved so many times that it scarred permanently, were the words "I must not tell lies" from Umbridge. At the crook of his right elbow was a large circular, purplish scar about the size of a grapefruit; that had been from being bitten by the Basilisk. On his left forearm was a long pale line that ran parallel to the main vein that ran through his arm and connected to his hand; he had gotten that from Wormtail in his fourth year.

That ended the many scars he had received while in Hogwarts, the scars that the world saw. A long jagged gash on his thigh was bright and pink from where Dudley had pushed him through a window. What he had come to realize was that the scars he had used accidental magic to help heal were the ones that scarred the worst. As proven by the horizontal stripes on Harry's right side from the belt Vernon had favored when Harry was younger. On his left pectoral was a circular burn no bigger round than a muggle cigarette, because it was from a muggle cigarette. Vernon had drank a bit too much one weekend when Petunia and Dudley had been away. He had drank for so long that he still hadn't gone to bed when he decided he was hungry at five fifteen in the morning. His way to wake the freak up was putting out his cigarette on Harry's chest.

There were more, little cuts that scarred that Harry couldn't even begin to remember. The Dursley's had beaten him so long most of it was a blur…and they were the only family he had left. Yet again he would be forced back to that tiny room for weeks on end. Harry could already feel the panic that came whenever they stuffed him in there, how the walls felt like they were closing in and make his chest constrict.

Harry's eyes slipped closed and he lay back down. He would talk to Dumbledore tomorrow; try to make the old man see how dire it was that he not return to Privet Drive. However, just the thought of Dumbledore sent his thoughts swirling.

Dumbledore had killed his last chance of ever leaving the Dursley's for good. He had _known_ about the prophecy, Harry knew this. Back in his first year he had asked to know but Dumbledore had kept that knowledge from him. If he had known…If Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy this wouldn't have happened. He would never have gone and Sirius would never have been killed.

It was Dumbledore's fault.

It seemed like every bad thing that happened to Harry was Dumbledore's fault. Dumbledore had left Harry with magic hating muggles. He had let Sirius rot in Azkaban with no trial and he was the head of the Wizengamot! Dumbledore forced him to return to the Dursley's for more beatings and starvation every year while he could have been safe at the Weasleys, here at Hogwarts, or at Grimmauld.

Harry wanted to be angry; he wanted his blood to boil. But all he felt was numbing shock and overwhelming exhaustion. Soon enough his eyes had slipped closed and he drifted off to a place where Dumbledore couldn't touch him.

The following day was full of potions and check-ups, watching the others get treated, and longing desperately to run as far away as possible. As it was when he was finally released the relief was quickly killed by Madame Pomfrey's orders to go to Dumbledore's office. That was when the first tendril of anger reared its head. So Harry walked, with his jaw clenched and his fists balled up, to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office.

Now here he was, standing alone in the large office full of odd devices that puffed and dinged waiting for Dumbledore to enter. The portraits chattered but Harry didn't listen, they sounded a million miles away as he sat, glaring at the Headmaster's empty chair. Green flames in the fireplace roared to life and out stepped the man, smiling pleasantly. Anger morphed into white hot rage and hatred, licking through him the like FiendFyre upon first glance.

"Ah Harry," Dumbledore sat down behind his large oak desk and folded his hands. Dumbledore's calm, nonchalant demeanor was like throwing gasoline onto Harry's burning rage and Harry couldn't sit any longer so he stood. Dumbledore raised his eye brows. "You'll be happy to know that none of your fellow students will suffer lasting damage from last night's events."

It didn't make Harry happy. He didn't want to talk about anyone else, didn't want to be as selfless as he always was. Harry wanted to be selfish, to talk about him and how utterly pissed he was. But Dumbledore continued, "Nymphadora Tonks will need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's but is expected to make a full recovery."

Harry's jaw was clenched so hard he was afraid his teeth might shatter. Itching appeared just under his skin and seemed to grow in intensity with every breath he took. So he didn't reply, instead he stared at the carpet, trying to will away this maddening itching that had continued to grow with vigor.

A weary sigh from Dumbledore fed his flames of rage, "I know how you are feeling Harry."

"No," Harry ground out through clenched teeth, unable to unclench them because the second he did he knew he would go off, "you don't."

"There is no shame in what you are feeling Harry," said Dumbledore. "On the contrary…the fact that you can feel like that is your greatest strength." As if it had been in a cocoon, Harry's rage broke through and transformed into a lethal, homicidal fury that he couldn't control. His hands started to shake and somewhere, deep in his gut the weirdest pulling sensation occurred. The itching intensified a hundred fold and Harry turned to face Dumbledore.

"My greatest strength?" Even in his murderous, scarlet tinted haze Harry could hear the sheer magic in his voice, distorting it. "You haven't got a clue…you have no idea…"

Dumbledore's eyes widened for a split second before he leaned forward, "What don't I know?"

And that was the last straw, Harry's last bit of self-control was thrown out of the window and he grabbed the nearest thing to him, a lunascope. He threw it so hard it shattered into thousands of pieces against the back of the fireplace. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM. I AM NOT FEELING WHATEVER IT IS YOU THINK I AM!"

Harry grabbed handfuls of little silver gadgets and threw them against the wall, shattering them and scaring the portraits. Their fear seemed to bleed into Harry, making him stronger, "I HATE YOU! YOU KILLED MY LAST CHANCE AT LEAVING THE DURSLEY'S, MY LAST CHANCE AT ANY SORT OF FREEDOM! YOU KEPT HIM LOCKED AWAY KNOWING THAT HE DIDN'T HAVE A TRIAL AND YOU NEVER TRIED TO GIVE HIM ONE ONCE YOU KNEW HE WAS INNOCENT!" Harry was panting yet he kicked over tall piles of books.

"Harry there was noth-"

Lies…more fucking lies…Harry had had enough of Dumbledore's lies. "YOU'RE THE HEAD OF THE WIZENGAMOT! YOU KEPT HIM LOCKED AWAY BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO KEEP ME AT THE DURSLEY'S! YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO ME EVERY SUMMER; YOU KNOW THEY BEAT AND STARVE ME! YOU WANTED TO KEEP ME MALLAEBLE SO THAT I DON'T RUN OFF AND JOIN VOLDEMORT. YOU NEED ME TO DEFEAT HIM."

Harry grabbed the large tin full of candy and through it at Dumbledore's head. It missed and broke through the window behind him.

"Harry listen to yourself, I would never- I care about you-"

"YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT THE BOY-WHO-LIVED AND PREPARING HIM FOR THE FINAL SHOWDOWN. FIRST YEAR YOU TESTED ME WITH THE SORCERER'S STONE. SECOND YEAR IT WAS THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS, FOURTH YEAR YOU FORCED ME INTO THE TOURNAMENT. IF YOU'RE NOT SETTING ME UP FOR YOUR SICK TESTS YOUR SENDING ME BACK TO ABUSIVE MUGGLES." With every word Harry shouted the pulling sensation grew until on the word "muggle" Harry felt his magic explode. It shot out of him and exploded like a bomb, destroying anything it touched. Dumbledore's desk was cracked in half, the bookshelves were knocked over, portraits were flung across the room, and papers were shredded and scattered about the room like confetti.

Harry was panting hard, his fists still clenched, and glaring at Dumbledore who was staring at him in surprise.

"I've had enough," Harry said in a calm, cold voice that he had never heard himself use before. He couldn't look at Dumbledore so he stared somewhere over the man's shoulder. "I'm done. You've taken everything from me; my childhood, my last family, my future…I'm taking it back. While you're sitting around the fire in my dead godfather's house I'll be being beaten for breathing. That's how you treat your "savior"? Go find yourselves a new one."

Harry turned, not looking back, and walked out of the door. The junk that littered his path moved itself as he stormed out, not bothering to even slam the door. When Harry was out in the hallways his fury dulled down into white hot anger lurking just below the surface. Shock had taken place as the predominant emotion.

He couldn't believe how he had just gone off like that. Harry had known he was angry but he hadn't even thought about some of the things he said consciously. And then he had told Dumbledore, in no uncertain terms, to find a new savior. Had he really quit? Could he quit?

What would he do without the order? Voldemort's words seemed to reverberate through his skull, sending trickles of fear licking through him.

_You will lose everything. _

But hadn't he already lost everything? What more was there to lose? Harry Potter had nothing, absolutely nothing, left to lose.

Except his life.

Even if he had nothing left, Harry knew he could not let himself be killed. The idea of just offering himself up as he had in the past for his many heroics sent a bolt of fear down him. There was still so much he wanted to do.

If only he could be somebody else…to not have to worry about going to Diagon and being killed or hunted down by Voldemort. He had no doubt Dumbledore would also search for him when he realized Harry was serious about not caring anymore.

But was Harry serious? Could he really not care about what happened to the rest of magical Britain? A very dark, disturbing thought crept in; _they had not cared about him._ They had ridiculed him all year. They had turned on him when he had tried to warn them about Voldemort. They had slandered and belittled him all year…tried to persecute him when he had saved his cousin from Dementors.

Wasn't this just what they deserved?

It might have been wrong but Harry didn't care. Let the thousands of witches and wizards who had actually finished school take care of themselves instead of depending on a sixteen year old boy. It wasn't as if they were children, they should be able to take care of themselves.

As the Hogwarts Express neared the train station Harry couldn't help but feel isolated even in the cramped compartment full of his friends and year mates. With each tug of the train the dread and bitterness seemed to grow and spread until Harry was completely intoxicated. His lips were twisted into a scowl and with each laugh or boisterous call from the other teens Harry's scowl twisted into an uncharacteristic and bitter sneer. He couldn't help but watch them through envious and resentful eyes as they lounged around and laughed so freely, so carelessly. Harry hated their excited grins and talks of vacations with their families. Talk of places to visit, annoying habits of siblings, overbearing mothers, and strict grandmothers left Harry silently seething in the corner in the warm sun's rays.

Harry would give anything to shut them up and kick his fellow Gryffindors out. He would give anything to not feel this raging jealousy or the clenching fear in his gut. These kids had no idea what it was like to return every summer to hatred and violence. They had no idea what it was like to be locked in a bedroom and forgotten about for days on end and be thankful for the reprieve of abuse. They had no idea what it was like to be kicked and lashed and hunted by muggles for being a freak.

None of them had just lost their only remaining hope for escape.

With the loss of Sirius Black came much more than the loss of a godfather, because in all honesty they hadn't known each other very well. No, it was what Sirius Black stood for that was so devastating for Harry to lose. To Harry, Sirius had been a beacon of hope. Hope that one day Harry would not have to go back to the muggles, hope that he had someone who cared about him and not the Boy-Who-Lived. The illusion, for it had been an illusion, had been shattered and now Harry was forced to confront reality as the illusion laid in shards at his feet.

In the light of the sun Harry could see the scar on his palm that he had received from one of his many encounters with Voldemort and the man's voice drifted through his mind again as it had countless times in the last few days, _'You will lose everything.' _At the time Harry had not believed those words. After all Voldemort was the bad guy and the bad guy always lost. Now Harry felt the hopelessness he should have felt when that promise had been uttered, after all no one had ever turned down the Dark Lord and remained unscathed. His naivety had cost him everything.

"Oh no," Hermione's voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts and he looked over at her.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked her as he looked up from his Herbology book.

"I confiscated this off a Ravenclaw," she pulled out a shrunken book from her pocket, "and forgot to dump it in the slot."

Harry uncurled his legs and sat up, "I'll do it Hermione, I need to stretch my legs anyway." She gave him an unsure look and hesitated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah I got it." She handed Harry the palm sized book and he stuck it in his pocket as he got up. It was the perfect excuse to get away from the excited whispers of happy summers. He hadn't made it halfway up the train when he heart dropped and all thoughts of the book in his pocket vanished though, the Hogwarts Express had arrived at King's Cross.

The fear so naturally ingrained into Harry made his limbs shaky and he practically shoved people out of his way to get back to his trunk. If he made the muggles wait it would only make his return worse and without the fear of Sirius Black to hold them back…Harry shuddered and shoved a first year out of the way.

Harry had just crossed the barrier into the muggle world when he felt his anger explode. There, pushing his purple faced uncle up against a brick wall, was Mad-Eye Moody. Even from where he stood Harry could hear the deep growls and blunt threats being snarled from his old Defense professor. _No…How dare they?! NO!' _ Harry wanted desperately to curse his ex-professor, to yell at him and make him realize this would only make it worse. _If you truly want to help don't make me go back._

After another minute Moody pushed away and made his way towards Harry and he was too pissed off to unclench his jaw when the older wizard promised that the muggles wouldn't touch him this summer. With that he was gone and Harry was left with very, very angry muggles.

The car ride back to Private Drive had been tense and silent, Dudley's vicious smirks had been nothing less than threatening and Harry wished he were anywhere but there. He would have given anything to be at headquarters or at the Burrow, or even dueling with Voldemort. But as Vernon grabbed Harry's neck and dragged him up the stairs he was powerless to stop the fat muggle without magic.

"You think you and your freaks can threaten me?" Vernon's voice was outraged and growling.

"No-"

"Shut up boy. I'll show you just how scared I am of your freakish threats." With that Harry was thrown into his bedroom and he landed on the floor with loud thud. He hadn't even had time to comprehend that he was on the floor before Harry felt the sharp sting in his abdomen where Vernon had kicked him.

"Who's to stop me now huh boy? Not your murderer godfather," another kick was delivered and Harry saw stars, "not your freakish friends," Harry wheezed as another kick hit his ribs and he heard a cracking sound. "And most of all not your freakish teachers." With one last kick Harry was rolled on his back and he heard the door slam shut. After all eight locks were in place Vernon stomped down the stairs, leaving Harry struggling to breathe on the floor.

The dust on the floor had been riled up and Harry tried not to breathe it in but failed miserably and his lungs burned with the need to cough. His chest flared in pain and his head spun but all Harry could do was curl up and bite back a sob that was trying to break free.

It wasn't until the sky had turned black that Harry finally moved, he dragged himself up and peeled off his clothing before climbing into the rickety bed.

The next morning Harry found his abdomen peppered in purplish bruises and his door still locked. Hedwig was no doubt taking her time in flying back, not that he blamed her he would have done the same. So Harry looked around his room, sighing as he realized he had only his clothes from yesterday, the rest were in his trunk that was no doubt locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs

Once he was dressed Harry did what he did every summer, he pushed his magic out and willed it to clean away the layers of dust that had accumulated over the year. At least now he wouldn't be inhaling dirt and coughing, his chest hurt enough already without that adding on to it. With a heavy sigh Harry put yesterday's clothes back on and looked around. He was too old now to get any enjoyment out of the broken toys that he had piled up in the corner of the room. The eight books on the small shelf on the wall above the desk had been read so many times he could quote them by heart. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets in frustration and was surprised to feel something hard. He pulled it out and let out a curse as he realized he too had forgotten to dispose of the confiscated book.

With a wave of his hand the book reverted to its normal size and Harry almost dropped it as the book grew heavier. On the cover in gold lettering was _Transfiguration Level 4_ and he nearly snorted when he opened the cover and found _Grasping Magic pgs 1-220, Dirty or Not pgs 221-550, _and _Rituals for Novices pgs 551-620. _All three books had been written by a man named Alerick Durante and none sounded very dangerous.

Harry wondered what he had been expecting, maybe something along the lines of _How to Kill, Maim, and Torture _or _Dark Arts Unveiled, _maybe even a _Why You Should Support Dark Lord Now! _With a snort he tossed the book on the bed and wondered if he should crack it open and find out why it was worthy of confiscation.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so at first I wasn't too sure of the plot of this story. I knew some schematics but there was a lot to decide. At one point I even considered a Time Travel fic, but I decided why make it so easy? Here they are at the brink of all-out war…such and intense atmosphere is delectable and cannot be turned away. Well, I hope you guys enjoy this! **

**CHAPTER 2:**

Morning came all too quickly for Harry who spent the night reading in the moonlight underneath the window, devouring pages like a starved creature. The pale grey atmosphere hid the sun and Harry couldn't help but scowl as the thick stormy clouds hid the sun and its warm rays, leaving Private Drive hot and muggy, thick with the oncoming summer storm. He hated how it matched his mood perfectly, with no hope for wind it was irritatingly suffocating.

Harry was trapped in desperate wishes to leave the confines of his prison, to forget what he had read and all that had happened. The asphyxiating anger raging just underneath his skin licking through his veins would have none of that though. It demanded answers, retribution, action…something, but it would not allow him to simply forget. No, to do so would be a travesty…a sin against magic itself, the one thing he most dearly loved. Harry could not forget, the words seemed to replay through his mind as if stuck on loop, and it would take nothing short than an _obliviate _to coax the newfound knowledge from his mind.

As if his whirling mind was not enough the little alarm clock next to his bed had just struck six and Harry knew he had to start on breakfast. It was, Harry decided as he pulled out the supplies from the fridge, even more humiliating than ever before and as he turned on the stove Harry could almost picture Dumbledore smiling. _'It's humbling Harry…' _Maybe before the events of the last two weeks Harry would have cowed and nodded, too afraid of letting his Headmaster down to stand up for himself. Maybe before he would have written off the pages of the book in his pocket as the deranged ramblings of nutter akin to Bellatrix Lestrange.

However something deep inside of Harry, the intuition that had always guided him away from mortal harm, was screaming that this was not the case. That those words that had painted such an elaborate picture of how humanizing logic and emotions like fear and jealousy had slowly eroded magic away until all that was left was the crumbling pieces of a former glory. Harry felt his eyes sting as he cooked the eggs, a very rare occurrence that left him just as bewildered as the book in his pocket had. Crying was weakness. He had stopped crying long before he had ever known of Hogwarts or magic. But-but if what the book said was true…it was heartbreaking that the one thing he had ever loved was truly as broken as he was…Harry felt like he was on the verge of storming Hogwarts and collapsing on the floor in utter defeat simultaneously.

What right did they, as witches and wizards, have to slaughter each other over petty views when magic as a whole was so close to the verge of becoming nothing but parlor tricks and illusions. The book had painted an astounding array of different ways magic had been pruned and tailored to fit the fears and prejudices of the common mass, but what right did they have? They should be honoring that magic had gifted them with such amazing abilities but in return they were killing her, as if they could only love parts of her and not every side.

Harry very much wanted to stick his face in the bubbling grease of the bacon that he was now cooking. He too had been prejudice and fearful, from the time he had entered Hogwarts his head had been filled with biases and he had unquestioningly believed everything he was told. He had been too caught up with trying to fit in and stay alive that he hadn't ever scratched the pretty surface and now that he had Harry was horrified to learn that everyone seemed oblivious to the larger picture. Why could they not see what was happening? Surely Dumbledore- or Voldemort for that matter knew what was happening. Why were they doing nothing about it?

"Boy," Harry cringed as the pounding footsteps became closer and closer until the swinging door was swung open, revealing the very fat muggle. It took everything in his power to bite the sneer that threatened to curl his lips back and Harry turned back to the toast he was buttering, thoughts of magic and erosion shoved into the back of his mind.

"Where's my coffee boy?" Vernon grumbled impatiently as he unfolded the newspaper and Harry grit his teeth as he filled the two mugs with black coffee and set the large glass of orange juice down in front of Dudley's seat.

Not to be left with scraps Dudley hastily made his appearance as he buttoned up his new pants, Petunia had had to take him to get new clothes because Dudley had once again outgrown his old ones. Vernon looked up and Harry felt that itching just under his skin and the pulling in his gut as the man's eyes filled with pride. "That's my boy!"

"Doesn't he look so handsome dear?" Petunia's voice came from down the hall and within seconds she too was entering the kitchen, smiling at her son and fixing his hair as she looked him up and down.

"He'll be beating the girls off this year," Vernon agreed and winked at his son.

Petunia scowled playfully at her husband and swatted his arm, "I raised my son to be a perfect gentleman, isn't that right Diddykins?"

Harry turned away in disgust as Dudley groaned loudly at the nickname and began preparing the three plates of food. Thankfully he was mostly ignored as served and cleaned up breakfast, the Dursley's too busy with getting ready for church to notice him much. So it was with a sigh of relief that they left and Harry was left to his own devices, locked in his cell. He had never been happier to hear that eighth and last lock slide into place and Harry wasted no time in digging out the book from his pocket and finding a position to read in that wouldn't agitate his bruised ribs.

He needed to know how this had happened, how magic had been so blatantly corroded without anyone caring, and seeing how book two was the second in the three volume set, Harry was sure that it had to cover why this had happened. So, sitting cross legged on his bed with the book on the pillow to prop it up, Harry cracked it open and began to devour the book with even greater ferocity than the he had the first.

Green eyes flew across pages at a speed that was likely to give Hermione Granger a run for her money. Harry didn't stop to use magic open the locks for neither food nor hygienic purposes. The Dursleys had spent a few hours at church but they returned home eventually and though a bowl of cold soup was shoved through the cat flap Harry made no move toward it, he hardly registered the other occupants the house at all except for the few hours that Vernon interrupted Harry's reading by yelling at the football game on the telly. It was nearing four in the afternoon when the large raindrops hit the window and that Harry finally sat the book down.

For a long while Harry just stared at the wall across from him, his mind simply blank and his body filled with disbelief so strong that it left Harry in a stupor. All night and all morning Harry had cursed and fumed and stewed in his anger, needing answers, desperately hoping that what he found next would soothe him. Instead it had left him in a horrified confusion.

It made sense yes, Harry would easily concede that the books pages had made the most logical argument backed up by pages and pages of proof that he had ever heard. But it went against everything Harry had ever been taught since stepping into the walls of Hogwarts. Harry simply refused to believe that _Draco Malfoy _of all people was right. With his haughty arrogance and deep rooted prejudices Harry was left feeling like the ground below him had just been ripped out from beneath him and he was suspended in the sudden weightless moment before he would start falling.

It took ages for Harry to come back to himself and when he did he found that the sky was getting darker. With practiced ease he rose from the bed without a creak and walked the few paces to his window. Life outside his little cell was moving on and while it had only been a day since Harry had returned to Private Drive, it had felt like months had passed. He desperately wished for a letter from his friends to distract him, or even just Hedwig so that he could have someone to talk to. Harry Potter had never felt as lonely as he did in that moment as he stared at the rain pounding on the glass.

For a while Harry allowed himself to wallow in his grief stricken desolation, but it didn't last long. His thoughts kept returning to the book on his bed and his refusal to let someone as pompous as Draco Malfoy be right. There had to be something he was missing, something that he hadn't read right in the distraction of Vernon yelling at the telly. So Harry once again picked up the book and desperately searched it pages, finding the spot in which he had left off.

It was with great horror that Harry dropped the book an hour later and his first thought was that the git had been right all along. It wasn't until he was in the kitchen cooking dinner that Harry truly comprehended what he had read. It was as he was stirring the batter for cornbread muffins that the realization came to him. In a way Malfoy had been right, but also in a way he had been wrong. Harry's eyes widened at the implications of the seemingly innocuous book in his room. The writer had not only openly defied the 'Light' side but he had gone a step further and also subtly defied the 'Dark'.

Whoever he was, Harry had decided that this Alerick Durante was as bold as a Gryffindor and as cunning as a Slytherin. If the man was still alive Harry vowed that he would track him down and thank him for opening his eyes to the bigger picture.

Surprisingly it was Petunia who had broken Harry out of his thoughts and made him a small peanut butter and jelly sandwich before sending him back to his room. It was odd being fed twice in one day but he wouldn't turn down the offer. So Harry was sent back to his room and he inhaled his small meal as he listened to each lock being turned. By the time the eighth lock had been slid into place Harry was lying on his back on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling and wondering how he could possibly return to Hogwarts the next year and act as if his world hadn't been turned upside down.

Was it possible to act as if he had never learned of squib influxes and muggleborn ratios? Could he really stand by and watch Hogwarts house the very students who mutilated the old traditions of honoring magic to fit a muggle religion that had and would persecute them? Could he watch purebloods in all of their superiority continue to degrade the naïve muggleborns instead of teach them their heritage?

But the real question was if Harry could go back to fighting a war he didn't believe in.

Harry knew the answer the instant the question had formed in his mind. No he could not. He could not waste his time with petty sects of magic when he knew the truth, whether it be charms or necromancy magic was magic and every facet of it should be honored. He would not stand for one side while the other was massacred. A balance between "light" and "dark", no part of magic should ever be held above the other.

But what did he do with this information? He was sixteen and a student for Merlin's sake. He had no chance in standing up against both Dumbledore _and _Voldemort.

Then there was also the other two thirds of the Golden Trio, Ron and Hermione. Harry doubted very much that Ron would ever be able to open his mind to accept the things that Harry had learned, he was too prejudiced and if Harry were honest, not smart enough to fully grasp the dire situation. Harry wished it weren't so but he wouldn't delude himself, Ron saw nothing wrong with how things were before Voldemort returned and he never would. Hermione, while smarter and cleverer than Ron, would never accept it either. As a muggleborn she would take this offensively and not be able to look past her dire need to prove muggleborns worth to see how damaging their muggle views were.

Harry had just effectively isolated himself from everyone he knew without even realizing it.

The next few days passed in a blur for Harry who had been overwhelmed with loneliness and aggravation. No matter how he looked at it Harry could not find a way to do anything about what he had read. It was frustrating to know that even though his eyes had been opened, his mind was not. All he knew where rudimentary charms and spells and he felt infinitely stupid when he realized just how much he had slacked off during the last five years of school. He claimed to love magic and yet he had let Ron's habits become his own and had thrown it away instead of delve like Hermione had. He had lost the ambition that had driven him in his childhood.

The anger over the realization had left Harry scouring the third book even though he had told himself only days ago that he wouldn't. The idiocy of that promise had Harry snorting derisively yet continued to show him how much could change in only a week.

_Rituals For Novices _turned out to be one of the most enjoyable books Harry had come across since he had learned of the magical world. Not only were these things that most every pureblood child used to learn but Harry was shocked by the sheer power some of the simplest rituals held. Most of the things in the book he could not do with a wand yet here the book was explaining it all and promising untraceable results. Harry had actually made very inhuman noises in his strange combination of joy and excitement when he found that most of them could be used on his _'family'._

However Harry's excited joy was trampled on when a shriek of what could only be rage came from somewhere down the hall and Harry dropped the book as his muscles tensed. This was the first time since his initial arrival that Harry backed into corner of his room trying to listen for footsteps over the loud thumping of his heart. They came in heavy stomps, alerting Harry to the fact that Vernon was too angry to be stealthy, and stopped just outside Dudley's room. Harry put his ear up to the wall, trying to listen in.

"Dudley," Vernon's muffled voice floated through the thin wall. "Did you happen to borrow money from daddy's wallet?"

Harry's heart sunk to the depths of his stomach and felt a bolt of fear strike him. "What money?" Dudley asked a little too innocently, a telling sign that Dudley was lying. "I've been with Pierce all day dad."

With a quiet thud Harry's head tilted back and hit the wall, his eyes clenching shut. How much had Dudley taken? It had to be a significant amount if Vernon noticed; the man never noticed a few pounds here and there that Dudley took for whatever it was he and his gang got up to.

The sound of Dudley's door shutting jerked Harry and he listened to each of the eight steps it took to reach his cell, each twisting Harry's stomach into knots. One by one the locks clicked open and Harry stared at the door in a wild panic. He had no wand; he was yet again utterly defenseless against the oncoming attack. Yet still Harry tried to back himself further into the wall as if it would do any good.

When the door swung open Harry knew his wild eyed look was all the proof Vernon needed and the man wasted no time with words. He crossed the room in three great strides and his hand shot out as quick as a snake, grabbing hold of Harry's neck with a crushing force. It was useless to struggle, Harry knew from experience that he could not match Vernon's strength, but it didn't stop his hands from flying up to desperately pull at the meaty sausages around his neck.

"I…didn't…do it…" Harry struggled to get out as his larynx was being crushed.

Vernon's glare didn't waver and a sneer curled his lips, "You're a thief and a liar." Harry only had a brief millisecond of relief when his uncle's hand loosened before it tightened again and the man actually used Harry's neck to pick him up and throw him across the room. For a brief second Harry saw Dudley in the doorway with a smug smile before he landed with a crash on the floor and his vision blacked out and stars appeared. It took several moments to regain his sight and when he did Harry found Dudley gone and Vernon standing over him.

The next second Harry's vision swam and his healing ribs exploded into pain beyond anything had ever felt. Harry tried to scream but the sharp stabbing pain cut off his breath and strangled him. Another kick landed in Harry's gut and his body curled into the fetal position. "P-please…" Harry cut off not only from another kick but at the thought of pleading for help. It was no use begging for mercy from Vernon, Dumbledore and his Order had never come in to the rescue…so to whom was he asking for help?

When Vernon couldn't access Harry's abdomen he landed a swift kick to the face and Harry half shrieked as his nose crunched and warm ooze trickled down his face. "No- Please!" Harry had been thrown on his back from the facial attack and too late he realized it left his whole torso open and unguarded.

Perhaps it was the pain, or the loss of blood coming from his nose, but Harry swore that time slowed down and he watched with frightened eyes as Vernon's foot came hurling towards him. Anger erupted in Harry like a volcano, burning any fear into ash, and suddenly he knew who he meant his pleas for. He did not wish for salvation nor for any healers or aurors that he knew. No, Harry closed his eyes and wished with everything that he was that Voldemort was there.

In that moment as his uncle's foot connected once again with his ribcage Harry wished Voldemort were there more than any other living being on the planet. Voldemort would no doubt kill these muggles, and most likely everyone on the block, in attempts to torture Harry psychologically. Oh how Harry wished he could watch crimson eyes flash as pale hands grasped the yew wand that would make all of them scream. Harry could almost hear the joyous symphony until hot breath on his face made him realize that it was in fact not Vernon screaming, but himself.

The muggle's face was inches away and Harry could not help but turn his face away in disgust. And there, as if he had always been sitting there all along and only now had Harry realized it, was a man in his mid-twenties that Harry could not mistake. The same dark brown hair and high cheekbones, long dark lashes that framed eyes the color of blood and Harry watched the thin lips move, forming shapes but yet producing no sound. Harry was overtaken by concussed confusion, why was Voldemort not attacking? Couldn't he see what was happening? Why was he just sitting there? Why was the man not a snake?

Large meaty hands grabbed Harry's face and yanked him away from the regal man sitting on his rickety bed, somehow still looking as elegant as if he were back on his throne. His uncle's large face filled up his vision and sound came back all at once.

"-think you can steal from ME?"

"Harry," the masculine voice was soft and melodious, so completely opposite of his uncle's, and Harry couldn't stop his eyes fluttering shut at the sound.

"I raised you boy! Damn freak you are and this-"

"Harry," that soft voice sang to him again and Harry's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at the Dark Lord on his bed.

"You ungrateful little shit-" Vernon was still on a rampage and spittle was flying everywhere. Harry flinched away only to have his hair grasped and his uncle yanked him back into place.

"You know what to do Harry," that soft voice coaxed Harry to look at him again and Harry held out his hand pleadingly. "One hair Harry, that's all you need. One hair and all of this will go away."

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind the command registered enough to make sense and lulled by the Dark Lord, Harry's hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of Vernon's hair. The man roared in stunned fury before a large fist connected with Harry's jaw, summoning the stars that had only just faded. The man climbed off of him and the next thing Harry knew the door slammed shut, filling Harry with momentary relief.

Emerald eyes looked back to Voldemort and found the man's thin lips curled in a triumphant smirk that would have paralyzed even the fiercest auror in fear. Harry followed the crimson gaze and found his arm splayed out, his fingers opened just enough to see a few strands of the muggle's hair. Somehow Harry knew that this was what pleased the very human dark lord but he wasn't able to do much more than smile, knowing Voldemort would kill not only him but the Dursleys as well, before he succumbed to the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Not much feedback but I can't help myself from posting. **

**CHAPTER 3**

_Hoot. Hoot._

Harry rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head in attempts to fend off the sound of an owl from his throbbing head. He curled up and settled back into the warmth of the hard bed.

_Hoot. Hoot. _

"Hedwig?" Harry asked groggily, still keeping his head under the blanket.

_Hoot. _

Harry stuck his hand out and felt his owl nip his finger lightly before he rubbed her head. "It's nice to finally see you girl." He received another hoot and heard her fly back to her perch. With a mournful sigh Harry forced himself to sit up, though his body felt like it had gone two rounds with hippogriff. The afternoon light was blinding and Harry shielded his eyes as he reached for his glasses. When he could finally see he tried to think around the pain in his head.

What had happened? Why was he in bed?

And then his gaze found a man standing in front of his window and Harry nearly leaped out of bed with a strangled yelp. The man turned and Harry found himself staring wide eyed at a very human looking Dark Lord. Voldemort's face was expressionless but his gaze roamed Harry's body causing Harry to look down and turn scarlet as he found himself in only boxers. With another yelp Harry dove for the blanket, only to stop and pull himself back up.

With wide eyes Harry stared at his torso and the memories of his uncle's beating flashed through his mind. However brutal Vernon had been there was not a trace of black or blue on Harry's skin. In fact apart from some tenderness there was no stabbing pain or deformities. His hand shot to his nose and Harry gaped at Voldemort when he found it was once again straight, as if it had never been broken.

"You healed me," Harry sputtered breathlessly, almost unable to wrap his mind around the fact.

"I did." Voldemort confirmed as his arms crossed his torso.

"Why?" Not that Harry wasn't grateful, but he honestly hadn't expected to wake up, let alone wake up fully healed. Especially not by Voldemort, the man who had tried to kill him the past five years running.

For a moment a flash of something crossed the Dark Lord's face but it was gone before Harry could distinguish it and once again the man's face was blank. "You called for me."

Harry felt his jaw drop, absentmindedly noting the lack of pain, and he gaped at Voldemort. He had called for him? What was the Dark Lord a house elf now? Harry's eyes widened and he realized he had said that last part out loud when Voldemort's face twisted into an angry sneer.

"I'm sorry," Harry backed away quickly, not wanting to send the man into a rage.

"I expect a little more respect as I did save your life." The man's sneer dropped as Harry nodded and he turned back to the window. "You're _relatives _are gone, I suggest you prepare a proper meal in their absence."

"You didn't kill them?" Even to his own ears, Harry sounded highly disappointed and the man's lips twitched into a hint of a smirk. It definitely should not have been the first question to pop into his mind but the pang of guilt never came.

"No I did not." Green eyes rolled and Harry mumbled about pulling teeth as he pulled his discarded pants on. His shirt was unsalvageable due to the amount of blood that had stained it. As he walked to the door he felt Voldemort following him and wondered just why the man was here, not trying to kill him. It was surreal and Harry couldn't help but be hypersensitive in case this weird bout of sanity wore off and the man went deranged again.

With his hand on the door Harry merely thought about the locks before he heard eight simultaneous clicks and Harry's eyes went wide. He had never performed wandless magic so easily before, most of the time he had to concentrate on each of the locks one at a time. Harry looked back to Voldemort and fond the man smirking smugly as if this had just confirmed something. With a sigh Harry opened the door and made his way down the hall, too hungry to care about the oddity of the situation. Though he did spare a longing glance at the cupboard that stored his wand, at least now he was closer to it than before.

Voldemort sat at the breakfast bar and watched Harry with a silent expressionless gaze and left the boy feeling completely addled. His hands shook as he cooked the eggs and buttered a piece of toast but he also indulged with a glass of orange juice and a banana, feeling certain the Dursley's would die if they tried to punish him for it with the Dark Lord here. That thought brought a smirk to his lips, however long the man stayed here was like a security blanket Harry didn't have since Sirius had been killed.

"Will you tell me why you're here?" Harry asked as he flipped his omelet. "Are you letting me have a last meal before you kill me?"

"Oh," Harry continued before Voldemort could talk and the man's eyes flashed in annoyance. "Could you at least let me watch you kill the muggles before you kill me? Maybe get Bellatrix involved?"

That last comment made the hint of a smirk back on the older man's lips and Harry felt himself blush and turn back around to the eggs. "I have always been here, and no I am not going to kill you nor your _relatives." _ Voldemort sneered the word relatives and Harry's breath felt like it had been knocked out of him. Not to say he was disappointed by the supposed promise of not killing him, which was fine and dandy he supposed, but more like he was frustrated the muggles wouldn't die.

"What do you mean you have always been here?" Harry asked, deciding to let the muggle killing drop for now in hopes that he could sway the man later.

For a long moment Voldemort looked torn and Harry watched with a sick curiosity as the man obviously debated with himself. Finally after a long moment he looked up and crimson eyes locked with emerald, "Do you remember when you asked Dumbledore how you could speak Parseltongue in your second year?"

Harry's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the spatula in his hands, "You know about that?"

"Of course I know about that," Voldemort scoffed. "I know everything about you."

Somehow Harry doubted that, no matter how many spies the man had. Harry had secrets that no one knew, like the book in his bedroom for instance. "Yes I remember, he said that you transferred a bit of your power to me on accident."

Crimson eyes closed and Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose in clear frustration, "Harry, you cannot transfer magical power from one core to another. It is impossible otherwise witches and wizards would go around draining those weaker than themselves for more power."

Once again Harry found himself being faced with another lie of the headmaster's and felt his jaw clench. "Then what?" He asked through clenched teeth, ignoring the pain in his jaw. "How is it I can speak Parseltongue?"

Harry turned off the stove, promptly forgetting all about the eggs and looked directly to Voldemort. "It was not my power that I transferred Harry, it was a sliver of my soul." This time Harry really did drop the spatula and his mouth fell open to gape. That wasn't possible! There couldn't be a- a sliver of _Voldemort's _soul in his head!

"Indeed." Voldemort hummed in agreement. "I surmise my counterpart would react in much the same way. However it is true. It is why I know every detail of your life from the night I tried to kill you and it is also why you see me now. You called on me, instinctively knowing that you had no other choice, and dropped the significant amount of your magic that you had been using to keep me locked in the darkest corners of your mind.

"You will find," Voldemort carried on as if he were talking of the weather, "that your magic will be significantly more powerful now, as you have witnessed upstairs when you unlocked your door."

Harry could only stare at Voldemort in a dumbfounded stupor before a new realization hit him with the brunt force of his uncle's fists. "How am I supposed to kill you if there's a bit of you stuck in my head?" Not that he was still planning on fighting in this ridiculous war when he had more important things to worry about, but still if either of the men got in his way Harry had resolved to cowardly kill them with poison or something.

Voldemort's expression darkened and Harry felt his heart skipped a beat. "You are a horcrux Harry, a container for a significantly large piece of my soul. You cannot kill me without first killing yourself."

For a brief moment the world seemed to stop before Harry tried to draw in a deep breath, finding himself unable due to the tightness in his chest. "He knew!" Harry growled and he gasped for breath. "Dumbledore knew I was a horcrux and that I would have to die."

"I suppose it's probable," Voldemort agreed, "that he indeed had a theory, however he has not yet performed any such diagnostics to confirm or deny it. He always was one to jump blindly on a hunch."

Harry snorted and stared pointedly at Voldemort, "You're one to talk."

Voldemort stiffened and Harry watched his face become a cool mask of indifference once again. "I have torn my soul apart multiple times and in the face of insanity I am still a superior strategist than that old man could ever hope to be."

"Multiple times?" Harry asked in shock, ignoring his bragging. "You have more, er- horcruxes?"

Harry watched Voldemort nod and faintly felt his gut twist though he brushed that away as quickly as it had come. Needing a moment to process this new information Harry scooped his omelet onto his plate and grabbed the glass of orange juice before sitting beside Voldemort at the bar. "So he doesn't know he made you?"

"No he is not aware at the present time." Voldemort finished in a clipped manner and Harry was almost positive that there was more that he was going to say but didn't.

After swallowing some eggs Harry couldn't help but ask, "So what's keeping you here? Go rejoin your- er- other self."

"That is a more complicated issue than you would be lead to believe." Harry hadn't ever seen the Dark Lord look uncomfortable and he watched with fascination as the man actually looked away from him.

"How so?" Harry dug into the rest of his omelet with gusto and waited for Voldemort to answer.

"It seems my dilemma goes above and beyond the complex ritual in which to reintegrate with my main soul piece." Voldemort paused and contemplated his next words carefully. "Perhaps if you had not destroyed my diary I would not have this problem however-"

"What's the diary have to do with anything?" Harry interrupted without thinking and clicked his jaw shut when irritation flashed through Voldemort's eyes. There was a healthy level of wariness coursing through Harry now and he decided to actually think before he spoke.

"A soul cannot move on to the next plane of existence in mere fragments. So when a horcrux is destroyed, as you destroyed mine in the Chamber, it is simply lost and without body to anchor it. Therefore if that was my only horcrux you could have killed my main soul and I would have been forever dead. However that is not what happened.

"When you destroyed the diary the soul fragment, the largest of us all, sought out my presence and we merged."

Harry nearly choked on his eggs as he dropped his fork with a loud clatter. "There's two of you inside me?"

"No," Voldemort denied in a condescending drawl as if Harry were a child and pinched the bridge of his nose, "my sixteen year old counterpart merged with me and we became one. I was already lost to the madness when I tried to kill you and splintered me off unknowingly. However when I merged with half of myself, a sane self, my sanity was restored and I achieved a more youthful appearance yet I maintained my knowledge."

Harry still didn't understand the problem in all of this, after all the man wasn't going around killing everything that breathed so where was the downside? "So what's the problem?"

At his question Voldemort gave Harry a pitying glance and Harry swallowed thickly wondering if he really wanted to know. "I know Dumbledore hasn't told you much about me Harry but there are striking parallels between you and I that have, over the course of your life, eroded away blind prejudice and left in its wake a bond that I had previously thought impossible."

"You care about me?" Harry asked, not expecting that. He was stunned into a heavy silence, only able to stare at the man who looked like he had sucked on a lemon.

Voldemort let out a heavy sigh and explained, "I had been ready for the time when I knew you would have to be cut down, not because of some secret power we know not, but because of the symbol of hope you are to the people who would deny me. Hope is a dangerous thing Harry and I could not take the risk of leaving you alive."

"So what changed?" Harry asked as he set down his orange juice. He was morbidly curious as to what had saved his life this time.

"June twenty-first you opened a book and saw more than the carefully maintained façade. It gave me hope and as I said, hope is a powerful thing." Harry looked up from his plate and at Voldemort with something akin to hope fluttering inside of him as well.

"You mean you believe that book as well?"

Voldemort nodded with a sly smirk, "Alerick Durante is an alias Harry, one I created long ago when I was Tom Riddle and a force to be reckoned with in the political arena. That book was created for the sole purpose of informing those curious of my ideals."

For a moment Harry just sat there, processing that his mortal enemy was if fact the writer he had come to admire in the last week. It took a few minutes before Harry truly comprehended this though and he bit his lip in confusion. "If those are truly your views on magic, then why are-"

Voldemort held his hand up and Harry's jaw clicked shut as if obeying a silent command. "You have to realize Harry that for two decades I fought in the political arena for people to see my logic, but they were as blinded by prejudices then as they are now. A part I suppose was due to bad timing, the war with Grindelwald had left the public even more wary than before. And then we lost our patience, my group of self-imposed Death Eaters, my first inner circle. They tired of games and getting nowhere. We recognized the need for a purge, for a complete reformation of the government and its treaties."

There was a nostalgic look in Voldemort's eyes and his lips had curled upward ever so slightly. Harry stayed quiet as he listened, watching with rapt attention of a side of the man Harry had never known. "It had to be done by force of course, most everybody realized that. I was of course the most suited to lead this crusade. So we hosted balls and galas, even dueling tournaments where we picked out the best and the brightest and of course the most influential witches and wizards of the time.

"Everything was going to plan and victory was not the distant illusion it is now, we could almost taste it. I knew Dumbledore was rallying forces against me in attempts to keep a side of magic he despised forever locked away where it would hopefully die out. So, having already made one horcrux, I used the other items I had gathered in my time and made more, but what I did not realize was that in doing so I was slowly losing touch with reality and ultimately our goals.

"Slowly but surely we became as corrupt as the masses feared us to be. They couldn't see the logic behind the raids before and could not tell the difference after, when there was none. What was once a revolution became a terroristic free for all and that was the type of people it began to attract. By the time I heard the prophecy I was so far gone that I acted without thinking. My counterpart is likely reveling in the destruction he senselessly causes, but I will use this to my advantage." Voldemort now held a smirk that rivaled the triumph of last night and Harry found himself wanting to know the secret plans this man held. Not for sabotage or fighting but because he could feel a smugness that wasn't his and it made him curious.

As he chewed over Voldemort's story he realized it did make sense. He had often wondered why the most powerful and influential families had supported and took part in the war at all but when you knew what they had been holding out for… Harry looked to Voldemort who was eyeing a banana.

"You can take it you know." Harry offered and the man smirked at him as if Harry had said something very stupid.

"While I am not your subconscious Harry, I am no more than a hallucinatory manifestation. I have no physical form so when you released me from the confines of your mind I chose to show myself as such instead of merely a voice in your head." Harry's lips formed an 'o' and out of pure curiosity he reached out to touch Voldemort. His hand hit solid matter.

Voldemort looked amused and explained, "I am in your mind Harry, of course I will feel real to you. However if someone else were to say, walk through me they would never notice the difference."

Harry couldn't help the irritated pout that formed on his lips as his thoughts of Dursley hunting went down the drain. Voldemort's lips twitched again, "If you want them dead so much you should just kill them. However you do have an alternative means of eliminating the problem."

The memory of ripping out some of Vernon's hair flashed in Harry's mind and he had a sneaking suspicion that that had something to do with these alternative means. Voldemort nodded, looking pleased. "Yes that is why I had you grab some of the muggle's hair."

"Stop doing that," Harry snapped and moved to wash his plate in the sink.

"Harry my soul has inside you for fourteen and half years and while your magic hid me away it could not stop them from blending completely. Even now, as different as we are, it is difficult to pinpoint the exact location of where I end and you begin." Harry watched as the humorous smirk Voldemort wore turn down into a contemplative frown. "Reading your mind is not the Ligilimency you suffered under Severus Snape."

Harry only nodded and went about washing the dishes he had used, using the time to sort through all he had learned. There was a Voldemort who was and was not Voldemort in his kitchen, talking to him and not shredding his mind to pieces. Did he plan on returning to the other Voldemort and would sanity prevail over the…merged Voldemort? What would a sane Voldemort even do?

As Harry dried the last pan and tucked it underneath the stove he couldn't help but wonder if he should write to Dumbledore. Sure the man had things from him and lied to him but Harry was hallucinating Voldemort the horcrux. A horcrux the old man had known about…Harry dismissed that idea altogether and wondered if there was anyone he could tell. Hermione would go straight to Dumbledore and…well so would everyone else.

If Voldemort was aware of Harry's thoughts he said nothing, something for which Harry was grateful for. He needed time to sort this out on his own.

"Was it truly my mother's love that saved me from your killing curse?" Harry asked as he spun around, not even aware that the question had been lurking somewhere in his mind. But now that it was out Harry felt a need to know stronger than anything else.

Voldemort looked to him and if he was surprised he didn't show it, instead he merely answered. "In a way suppose yes it was her love, but not in the way that was explained to." When Harry said nothing Voldemort continued, "Her love for you was the driving force behind her actions. You see Harry, like the rituals in the book you read, all rituals need a sacrifice, a payment if you will. When your mother gave her life for you, she created a profound and new ritual the world had never seen before. With you clasped in her arms she struck a deal which is essentially what all rituals are in the very barest of forms. She needed you to be spared and in return she gave her life. I highly doubt though, as clever as she was, that she knew she was doing what is called black magic."

Harry nodded and headed out of the kitchen, knowing Voldemort would follow. So it hadn't been love that saved him as Dumbledore had said, it had been fighting fire with fire. What would the world think if they knew the truth? Harry almost laughed.

"Now that you've eaten it is time for your potions," Voldemort's voice came from the doorway and Harry spun around in confusion.

"My potions?" Voldemort merely waived in the direction of Harry's closet and Harry went to inspect.

When he opened the doors he was shocked to find four different colored potions in varying numbers of bottles. On the left was a blue potion lined up in eight different vials in lines of two, in the middle were smaller vials of green potion that were lined up in five rows of eight, and then on the right were two different sized vials, a small purplish one that bubbled and fizzed and a normal sized vial of what looked like swamp water. All of them were on a nice table that Harry had never seen before. "What are these?" Harry asked in shock. "How did you get them?"

"The murky green on the right is a stabilizer. Now that most of your magic is not being diverted to keeping me out you have much more than you know how to use. This stabilizer will help protect your magical core while you acclimate. The purple fizzy one will hopefully correct your eyes if they are not too far gone. The eight blue potions are a healing regiment that you are currently on and after those eight are finished then you will be back to perfect health." Voldemort looked smug at Harry's gaping but that faded quickly when Harry asked about the smaller green vials.

In fact the Voldemort actually frowned and Harry got a bad feeling that he wouldn't like whatever was in those vials. "It will be a very long process but those are nutrient potions. I am going to try and correct some of the damage these muggles have done to you like your stunted height."

For a long moment Harry didn't say anything. If Voldemort was telling the truth and Harry was wary on accepting Voldemort's words at face value, but if he truly was telling the truth then that would mean he was…taking care of him, of Harry freaking Potter, the Boy-Who-Vanquished-Him, the reason he was stuck in another person for fifteen years. The reason the other Voldemort was bodiless for over a decade.

"Why?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking. None of those who were supposed to or promised to care for him had ever done anything like this. If Voldemort was lying…if he was planning on kicking Harry where it would hurt the most… Anger was bubbling just beneath the surface and getting ready to explode at a moment's notice.

Voldemort seemed to sense this and he gave Harry a knowing look before crossing the short distance. When the long and pale fingers traced Harry's cheek a shudder ran down his spine but he didn't move away. Harry was torn between being too scared to move away lest the gentle touch stop and too disgusted with himself to lean into Voldemort's hand like he desperately wanted to. "We could be great together Harry," Voldemort said in a voice hardly above a whisper and Harry's arms broke out in goose bumps.

"Right now my counterpart is bringing the world to its knees crumbling the illusion, it has only just begun but it will get worse." Voldemort's hand trailed down and brushed by Harry's neck leaving Harry in a confused stupor. "Imagine it Harry, the world in turmoil and chaos everywhere." Harry found it frightening how easily he could picture it. Diagon Alley abandoned and the people too scared to leave their homes, Death Eaters wreaking havoc. "And then, when the world has burned we can rise up from the ashes and form a new society. Together we can restore magic to its former glory."

Harry's heart was racing in his chest and dazed crimson eyes were watching him, prodding him to understand. Voldemort wanted him to join him? To help him restore magic, the very thing Harry had been trying to think of a way to do for a week. But could Harry do that? Could he betray those who counted on him to join his parent's murderer in tearing down and rebuilding the world to restore magic?

_Yes, _Harry thought with surprising ease, _I can. _The ignorant and prejudiced sheep would either stand aside and learn or be cut away. They had turned on him without hesitation so what did he owe them?Nothing. But magic had never left him or turned her back on him. Magic had healed his wounds when muggle's beat him, magic had saved him and Harry loved magic.

But there was one thing Harry didn't understand, "Why me?" He was not yet sixteen and barely passed his classes. He had no extraordinary gifts or power. He was just Harry, the boy who got by off dumb luck.

Voldemort gave an airy sigh and his hand moved back to Harry's cheek. The coolness of the hand felt so real Harry had to fight to remember that it wasn't actually there. "I have tasted your power little serpent," Harry shivered at the pet name and found himself liking it even though he knew he shouldn't. "You have great potential. While others have beaten it down and broken your ambition I can mend it. While my counterpart tears apart the world I can use that time to build you into a wizard to be feared. I will teach you magic you've never even dreamed of. Separate we can be great, but together we can be extraordinary. When the time is right we can reshape the world."

The picture Voldemort painted was extraordinary and Harry couldn't help but marvel at how the man had used his situation to come up with one of the greatest plans Harry had ever heard of. And the offer…the offer to join and not only help magic but also learn her most arcane subjects…Harry honestly didn't know why he was hesitating at all.

"Take your potions Harry," Voldemort broke Harry from his thoughts and removed his hand from Harry's cheek, "and think on my offer."

Harry turned away from Voldemort as he felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment when he realized he missed Voldemort's hand. He quickly grabbed the nutrient and healing potions and downed them while trying not to think of their awful flavor.

"You never told me," Harry said as a yawn broke free. "How did you get these?"

Voldemort watched amusedly as Harry sank on his bed and pulled a majority of the blanket over his torso. "I possessed your body and healed you with your magic as much as I could. Then I sent for the potions using your owl. She's extremely intelligent; she knew just when you needed her."

Hedwig hooted as if proving a point and Harry only grinned sleepily before falling into an induced healing sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

When Harry woke up he realized he had slept not only through the rest of the day but also through the night as well. The alarm clock next to his bed read five a.m. and Harry groaned as stretched out the kinks in his muscles. When he peered out into the room Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding when he saw Voldemort standing by the window in the shadows.

"Good morning," Harry said as he curled on his side to watch Voldemort.

The older wizard didn't respond for a moment but then his crimson eyes opened and he turned towards Harry. "Good morning," he replied simply.

"I still can't get over how strange it is to have you here let alone actually talking to you."

"I can see how that would perturb you," Voldemort conceded, "however you are the one who demolished the barrier between us."

Harry rolled his eyes and bunched his pillow under his head, "What were you doing?"

Voldemort made no comment on the abrupt change of conversation and his lips curled into a dark smirk. "It has started, Harry. There has been a bridge collapse in a muggle city and an unprecedented 'Hurricane' has hit West Country, trolls by the sound of it."

The smile the curved on Harry's lips surprised him, he knew he should be angry, but all he could think about was Voldemort's plan and how all of this was necessary for magic. "I confess myself surprised. I had expected anger."

"So did I," Harry confessed and sat up, his feet touching the cold floor. As he twisted and turned his back cracked and his elbows popped. The chill of the morning air through the window produced shivers and Harry looked out in confusion. "It's July and it's been gray and muggy for two weeks," he groaned. "Now it's cold too?"

Voldemort held his smirk, "Soon the atmosphere will dull, the muggles will feel it first, the gloom and depression."

For a moment Harry mulled over the man's words and then he realized what they meant, "There are Dementors on the loose."

"Not only that Harry, they are breeding. However that is not the only thing on the loose either. Have you ever heard of Lethifolds?" Harry thought about it for a moment but as familiar as it sounded he could not remember where he had heard it so he shook his head. "They are devious creatures I'll give them that; however where Dementors suck out your soul and feed on emotion, Lethifolds sweep in through the shadows and devour you whole in your sleep."

A shudder ran down Harry's spine but he said nothing, trying to take everything in. "If you do not have the stomach-" Voldemort started with a disgusted sneer.

Harry, feeling an abrupt rage course through his veins, nearly growled as launched himself up and cut Voldemort off. "I am not weak but excuse me for needing a little time to adjust to the drastic changes over the last few weeks. My biggest hang up is if I trust you not muggle bridges. I'm not worried about the world being destroyed, I'm worried about what'll happen if I do join you and then once we accomplish our goals you decide you don't like sharing your new world." Harry was hissing quietly, deadly, so as not to wake the sleeping muggles but he was glaring daggers mere inches away from Voldemort.

"That is what you're worried about?" Voldemort let out an airy laugh that sounded more dangerous than amused. "It is true, I would never think of sharing my world with just anybody. But you're not just anybody are you Harry?" With a move that left Harry stunned and pinned against Voldemort glowered down at him, his knee between Harry's legs and his arms holding Harry's to the wall. 'Fate has intertwined us in ways that have never before been seen."

Harry felt his breath hitch as he realized the position he was in, Voldemort mere centimeters from his body, their faces so close Harry could feel the other man's cool breath as it fanned his face. "I have offered you a chance at something more precious than all of Gringotts and yet you would throw it all away over what if's?" Voldemort's head dipped and Harry fought relentlessly to keep his eyes from slipping closed as Voldemort's nose traced his jaw line.

_'Your heart is strong little serpent, though not surprising.' _The hisses fell from Voldemort's lips like honey, producing body jerking shivers and leaving Harry in an unprecedented state of arousal. _'You want more.' _

Voldemort pulled away harshly and Harry stumbled forward, his breathing erratic and his cheeks flushed both in mortification and arousal. The atmosphere was tense and electric, Harry was fighting to keep mind off of how delicious Voldemort's had felt pressed against his and instead focus on Voldemort's accusation. Did he want more? How could he want more?

The old reasons for despising the man in front of him came to Harry's mind; he murdered his parents, he was a dark lord, he was evil, he had killed thousands, he would destroy the world, and yet Harry knew that now all of them were void. Now in front of him was a handsome, ruthless, and ambitious man who was powerful enough to make the world burn, who planned to burn it to the ground and start anew.

The moment was broken by the screeching of an owl flying through the open window. The Daily Prophet landed on the desk beside him with a thud and Harry glanced at the large emboldened text: ** SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE**. Underneath, taking up most of the page, was a picture of a man with a mane of hair that reminded Harry of a lion and a wasted face. All in all the man looked like he had been through hellish wars and the stern set to his jaw made him look ruthless. No wonder the world preferred him over Fudge now that Voldemort had returned. It was no shock that the populous had called for Fudge's resignation.

A deliberate and angry cough came and Harry tore his gaze away from the paper and looked to Voldemort. "I just don't trust you." Harry sighed in exasperation. "Sure you're sane but so was Tom Riddle when he tried to suck the life out of Ginny. No!" Harry said louder when Voldemort looked as if he were about to defend himself. "I don't care about what happened, what I'm saying is that you have a track record of luring people in with charm and then trying to kill them."

Voldemort smirked smugly and nodded, "I suppose I have haven't I?"

"I can't work with someone I can't trust." Harry watched crimson eyes widen in shock for a split second before they went icy and the older wizard's expression went blank. Had he just told Voldemort no? It had come out before Harry had registered the consequences and now he wished he could take it back.

"Well," Voldemort drawled in a voice that Harry had once heard the other Voldemort use right before he tortured the life out of one of his Death Eaters, "I suppose I'll take my leave then." With that he disappeared with the blink of an eye and Harry whipped around the room, a growing horror in his gut. Voldemort was nowhere to be found.

He was gone.

"No," Harry whispered in in a growing panic. "No come back!"

But there was no response. The empty room that Harry had spent years in felt more empty than it ever had before and Harry felt like punching someone. The rising panic had his hands shaking and his gut clenched as Harry slammed his eyes shut and began thinking furiously to the horcrux. _Come back. Come back. COME BACK! _

But there was no response and Harry felt desolation overcome him. Voldemort had healed him when the muggles nearly killed him. Voldemort had gotten him potions to not only fix the current damage but the lasting eye problems and malnutrition. Voldemort had witnessed how Harry had changed and offered him both the knowledge and power to do something about the problems he had learned of. Voldemort had admitted that on some level he cared for Harry.

Voldemort had done more in mere days than Dumbledore had in nearly two decades. And Harry had thrown all of that in his face. The fucking Dark Lord had helped him and Harry had looked at it with suspicion and disregarded how astounding it was. Had he even thanked the man?

An inhuman noise came out of his mouth as Harry slid down the wall until his head was in his knees.

The following days were nothing short of horrible for Harry. As Petunia gossiped over Amelia Bones and Emeline Vance's deaths, not knowing she was fussing over two witches, Vernon had taken Harry's speedy recovery as a personal offense. Every chance the man got he landed brutish smacks with Dudley's Smeltings cane or locked Harry out in the morose cold with a list of chores that was impossibly long even with magic. And with each passing day Harry pleaded just a little more desperately for Voldemort to come back.

At night Harry would stare furiously at the hairs on his desk wondering what Voldemort had had planned for them. Trying in vain to think of something, anything, he could do with the strands if only to keep his mind from spiraling into a pit self-loathing and depression. Harry had been shocked to find that even if he were a hallucination, Voldemort had become a comforting presence that he had latched onto like a lifeline in his isolation. Now that the Dark Lord was gone Harry found the isolation unbearable.

So he took to walking the streets and reading the paper in a café or sometimes laying on the merry-go-round and staring at the gray sky as his magic pushed him around in slow circles. It was on one of these days, a week and a half since the disappearance of the Dark Lord, that Harry was watching the sky go round in the deserted playground when Harry gave up any last shred of dignity he had.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered hoping Voldemort was listening. A tear made its way out of the corner of his eye and slid into his hairline. The loneliness he felt was crippling and since he had begged and pleaded, ranted and raved, shouted and demanded that Voldemort return but to no avail, Harry found his only option left was nothing. He could only wallow in his desperation because ultimately he knew Voldemort wouldn't come back. Harry had had the unheard of opportunity to glance into the man known as the most powerful wizard in centuries when he was sane and he had shown just how stupid he was.

Yes he didn't trust him, but Harry realized trust was built and earned not just magicked into existence. He had thrown away the opportunity for that trust to build. He was back to square one, isolated and angry.

The stopping of the merry-go-round pulled Harry from his thoughts and Harry opened his eyes before shooting up. There before him stood Voldemort, looking like he had the last time Harry saw him. Quick as a snake Harry shot forward and launched his fist into the man's chest as anger and relief warred inside him. "Don't," Harry growled and punched his chest again. "You ever," another punch, "do that again." Emerald eyes locked on wide, astonished crimson ones and Harry nearly sobbed as the anger faded and relief won out.

"Harry?" Voldemort asked in a shocked voice, as if he hadn't expected this at all.

Harry stood trembling before Voldemort wanting nothing more than to launch himself at the man but not wanting to offend him and risk the Dark Lord disappearing again. "You left me." He whispered brokenly as he sat back down on the merry-go-round.

Voldemort sat beside Harry and once again it started to turn. "I was under the impression you wanted me to leave."

Harry turned and gaped at Voldemort, "Have you not been listening? I was begging you to come back!"

"You were the one who turned down my proposal Potter, why should I waste my time to keep you company?" Harry flinched at the use of his surname, even more so at the loss of the pet name.

"I know and it was stupid of me but you have to realize that trusting you of all people is an absurd idea."

Voldemort pierced Harry with a withering gaze, "Perhaps your idea of absurd differs from my own. I find it absurd that you still trust Dumbledore more than you trust me. I find it absurd that even though I have never lied to you, abused you outside of a duel, or manipulated you, you still find the Order of the Phoenix more appealing than my company."

"I don't though," Harry whispered shamefully, "not anymore."

"Oh I know, I can feel it in your mind. Perhaps this week away has been beneficial on both fronts."

Harry couldn't help but give Voldemort a questioning gaze and the man smirked. "I was…away I suppose you could call it. I was spying on my counterpart, quite the progress."

These words sparked a curiosity in Harry and he wondered if it was even worth asking. Would Voldemort trust him with information? The question nearly made Harry flinch; he wouldn't be risking Voldemort's presence by asking. So instead Harry lay back on the metal and stared up at the sky, comforted by the horcrux's return.

For several minutes there was comfortable silence until Harry couldn't stand it any longer and finally asked, "Do you still think we could be great together?"

For a moment it looked as if Voldemort were evaluating him, testing Harry's resolve with not a hint of what he was looking for. But then he said, "I do." Harry let out a breath he had been holding in anxiety and Voldemort continued, "But I will not tolerate such behavior again. You are capable of rational thought and I expect next time you have a problem to speak it before you lose yourself in rage. As Gryffindor as it is, I would say it was more _Dursleyish_." Harry visibly flinched and his jaw clenched in anger at being compared to those muggles.

It was though, perhaps the only thing that Voldemort could have said that would truly make him think next time. Those words, as cruel as they were, pierced a part of Harry that would forever haunt him. "I understand that you are young," Voldemort continued with a knowing look that left Harry feeling like the man knew exactly how much those words stung and were not used lightly. "But such irrational behavior is unbecoming and in some situations dangerously telling."

Harry didn't respond to that, instead he looked back to the gray sky as a cold wind breezed by. He knew that what Voldemort said was true and that he would have to work on that but even as small tendrils of shame licked through his veins Harry couldn't help but let his lips curl into a small smile, contented with the fact that Voldemort wasn't going to leave again. The desolation that had beat against him like waves against the small boat he had been shoved into in his first year, spraying him icy water of depression had ceased. The sea was calm and while the sun was still hidden, Harry was contented to drift at sea with Voldemort as his guiding star.

"What did you learn," Harry asked after long bout of listening to the squeaking metal of the merry-go-round. "When you were in Voldemort's head?"

The nightmares that had plagued Harry all the previous year had ceased and Harry was cautiously optimistic that his mind was once again his own, however much it could be anyways with a large portion of Voldemort's soul occupying the same space. So the inner workings of the Dark Lord were once again a mystery to him and Harry found that even though the dreams had been horrific at the best of times, he missed them, though he would deny that if ever asked. Voldemort looked over at Harry with an expression that gave him the distinct feeling that he was getting ready to be tested. On edge, Harry listened as the older wizard's musical voice danced in the breeze. "The fallen are desperate Harry, searching for ways to restore their grace."

"The Ministry fiasco?" Harry guessed, knowing that several Inner Circle Death Eaters had been captured. Voldemort nodded and a wicked smirk curled on his lips.

"Draco Malfoy has been given a chance to restore his family's honor on a silver platter. He is lucky compared to those who have yet to even be called."

"I knew he would become a Death Eater," Harry exclaimed a little too loudly as he sat up. But then the words of what it all meant truly hit him and Harry felt pity blossoming in his stomach. "What was he ordered to do?"

If all the stars in the nights sky disappeared simultaneously Harry still would not have been as shocked as he was when Voldemort told him of Draco's task. "He has to kill Dumbledore?" Harry swore colorfully under his breath, unsure of how he felt about that. On one hand Draco was his rival, they loathed each other. But that stemmed from bruised feelings years ago, Harry in no way wanted the one person in magical Britain who saw him as nothing more than he was to die.

"In the barest of terms, yes."

Even to Harry it was revenge through and through. Dumbledore was…well he was Dumbledore and while Harry didn't like the man he would readily admit that the man was powerful, much to powerful for Draco to take on by himself. "You aren't feeling sorry for Draco are you?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Take it and concentrate, feel their life in the palm of your hand." Voldemort instructed as he sat before Harry, the shadows masking most of his face except his eyes. Harry found it exceedingly difficult to concentrate as those blood red eyes gleamed with an intensity that had him squirming.

So Harry closed his eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of Voldemort's gaze burning his body, trying to focus solely on the three strands of hair, one from each muggle, in the palm of his hand. For a long moment he felt exceedingly stupid, finding nothing but annoyance, but after a while and few long deep breaths he felt something. It was an odd sensation, almost as if the hairs were electric and buzzing just underneath his fingertips and pulsing slightly. Just the feel left Harry wanting to toss them down and not touch them again but then Voldemort spoke in a hushed yet excited fervor, "Good, very good. Now delve deeper, past the static until you feel a steady current."

As the words left Voldemort's lips Harry found himself feeling a slow and repetitive pull against him. "Now Harry," Voldemort whispered as if afraid to break Harry's concentration. Yet Harry had no problem following the waves of current. "You need to insert your will upon them, reverse the tide from them to you. Your will needs to break their own and push towards them."

Harry found that part of the magic harder than the rest. The current rushing towards him was like a river and Harry found that he could wade against the current but to reverse it all together was much harder. But the more he pushed, the more he fought against the waves he found that he was slowly building up his own current. It took what seemed like hours to build up his current enough to overpower the muggle's tides but slowly and surely they began to give and follow his own. Harry kept on pushing, instinctively knowing that he could change the tide if he kept at it. Not long after the once coursing rivers flowing against him now followed his will and raged towards the muggles. "No," Voldemort whispered, "twist those hairs and tie them in a knot. Do not lose focus."

Opening his eyes, but not losing the feeling of guiding the waves of currents against him, Harry twisted the hairs and the most peculiar sensation washed over him as he grasped the ends of the hairs. It was almost as if the hair itself was fighting against being bent. Harry struggled, but soon tied the knot and a strand of violet light welded itself around the knotted hair as if it were a chain. With wide eyes Harry looked to Voldemort and smiled when he saw the man smirking in approval.

"I did it?" He asked, not quite sure as he felt no different.

"Indeed, you did." Voldemort confirmed and Harry couldn't help but grin. "Do not lose those," the older wizard warned, "If anyone were to come it would be easy for a wizard to tell that the muggles are under some sort of spell." Harry nodded and put the now knotted hair in the top drawer of his desk.

"Now what?" Harry couldn't help but want to go downstairs and put his first attempt at dark magic to the test.

"Now we see the fruits of your labor."

So Harry followed Voldemort down the stairs and found the muggles on the couch, staring dazedly at the telly. Dudley was even drooling a little. Neither of the adults did so much as blink when Harry stood in front of them and Harry smirked darkly. "Vernon you will take me to Diagon Alley today." The dazed look in the fat muggle's eyes cleared and he grunted as he got up and Harry watched gleefully as the man dawned his coat and grabbed his keys.

"Petunia," Harry turned to the horse-faced woman who was still staring blankly. "You will have a hot meal ready for me when I return. And Dudley," Harry's gaze turned to his whale of a cousin, "you will do my chore list today."

Harry wore a smirk identical to that of Voldemort's as he watched the raven haired boy take command. The muggle's went about their tasks and Harry followed Vernon to the car, Voldemort not far behind. They had decided a trip to Diagon Alley was needed, Voldemort was demanding Harry have a proper wardrobe for a wizard of his new, secret status. And Harry, aware of his distinct lack of knowledge in the Wizarding world, wanted to get a few things though most of his education he knew would come from Voldemort himself, who was turning out to be far better than any book he could buy.

"So the ICW is more or less like the United Nations?" Harry questioned as Vernon drove, the man saying nothing as his sole function was to drive Harry. Harry found that Voldemort had picked up this magic in Bangladesh where purebloods believed House Elves were inferior and used muggles as their slaves. The knotted hair that Harry had in his bedroom was a far less effective but less taxing form of the Imperius Curse. The only downside was that it only worked on muggles, wizards were much too strong to be coerced by mere hair.

Voldemort sneered at the muggle comparison but nodded. "More or less. However Britain, Spain, France, Bulgaria, United States, and Brazil are the dominating nations. They are rulers, the rest have merely a single seat if they are lucky and are only there for their protection. The predominant nations each have two seats; Britain's seats are held by Albus Dumbledore and Lord Henry Greengrass."

Harry knew he had heard that name somewhere before but couldn't quite place it. "You are year mates with his daughter, Daphne Greengrass." Harry's lips formed an 'o' as he recalled the pretty blonde girl in Slytherin who was also known in whispers as having a heart made of ice.

"This year," Voldemort continued, "you should take the time to sway the sons and daughters of current chair holders in the Wizengamut. Malfoy of course, Greengrass would be a wise option as well as the Burke child in Ravenclaw, the Carrow twins in Slytherin, the Parkinson girl would be a wise choice as her mother is who we will be seeing today, and of course there is the infamous Zabini both of whom are in Slytherin. "

"Wait wait, we're seeing Parkinson's mother today?" Harry asked, dumbfounded and hesitant on meeting the annoying girl's mother.

"Of course," Voldemort drawled, "She is a renowned fashion mogul and only dresses the elite. She has a high end boutique in Hogsmeade. We are going to call on her for tea after we reserve a room in the Pub."

Harry had heard of the Pub only once before but even he knew that it was bordering on impossible to reserve a room, let alone get through the door. The handle to the door itself was cursed and you could only cross the threshold if you had been invited. It was also said that the pub owner, a grizzly man by the name of Moribund, catered to human and creature alike, including vampires. "And how exactly are we going to get into the pub?"

Crimson eyes narrowed as if he had expected Harry to have figured this out by know. 'I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, the golden boy. There is no way I'd make it through the door."

"You are the Boy-Who-Lived Harry, and whilst in most situations with your school mates that means you are some sort of light wizard sent to save them, most of the older wizards from the first war had feared you were an even stronger dark wizard." Harry gaped at Voldemort in surprise. Had people really expected him to be a dark wizard?

"Moribund will let you in solely based on the fact that he is arrogant and ambitious. If he sees Harry Potter on his doorstep he will jump to the conclusion that you have been fooling everyone for years. He will let you in and try to dissect you." Harry shuddered at the thought but nodded. "When we enter Knockturn you will pull your hood up over your head and when Moribund tries to get nasty you will have to reply in kind."

For a moment Harry contemplated Voldmort's words as he stared out of the window, but then it hit him. This was so much more than getting a wardrobe, not only was Voldemort testing him, but Parkinson would most certainly spread the word throughout the dark community. If Harry passed word would soon hit every dark witch and wizard's ear that Harry Potter wasn't as golden as he seemed to be.

Harry couldn't help but be impressed and judging by the look on Voldemort's face he knew it.

The Leaky Cauldron was deserted and Tom the barkeep was dozing behind the counter, making it easy for Harry to slip by unnoticed. However Harry was not prepared for the sight that beheld him once the brick wall gave way to the entrance of Diagon. The cloud was even darker, making it indistinguishable between night and day. Shops were desolate and the streets barren, there were no carts selling odds and ends, and you could literally smell the fear that permeated the air.

"You have enough in your money bag for a room to be reserved but you will have to have Lady Parkinson bill Gringotts." Harry gave an almost unnoticeable nod and followed Voldemort with his hood drawn up, hiding his face in the shadows. Halfway up the alley Voldemort led him down a narrow side alley where the bright colored bricks stopped and faded into gray and dirty bricks. After following the windy trail a few yards a sign came into view, making Harry excited for tonight when Voldemort had scheduled his eye treatment. Another few feet or so Harry made out _'If dark ye not be, From here must ye flee'._ A shudder ran down Harry's spine but to his surprise it was not fear it was excitement.

While Voldemort led them down narrow alleys with hardly a glance Harry couldn't help but feel like he did when he had first entered Diagon alley, wishing he had eight more eyes as he took in old shops like the Spiny Serpent, Callidora's Crooked Confections, the Hidden Athame, Coffin House: All Your Necromancy Needs, and what looked to be a bookstore that had no name. "That," Voldemort broke Harry from his sightseeing with a point of a finger, "Is Marius Black." Harry followed Voldemort's finger and found an older man with cane much like Lucius Malfoy's and an expression that could only be described as sour. "A squib cast out only to return to the magical world and now owns one of the most renowned poison shops in Britain."

Harry looked away before the man caught him staring and Voldemort continued, "Never trust a poisoner Harry, they are not only sneaky but treacherous."

"Who's that?" Harry asked in hardly a whisper as Voldemort followed his gaze to a witch ahead of him. She had pin straight hair the color of the sky above them and sharp violet eyes. Her lips were turned up in a contrasting smile which seemed to light up her face and pronounce the wrinkles around her eyes and laugh lines around her mouth.

"Ah that would be Miss Callidora Longbottom, long suspected of killing her husband after daughter Augustus Longbottom, your friend Neville's grandmother I believe, was born." Harry's eyes widened. He had seen Augustus Longbottom on the train station a few times and yet her mother looked half her age!

"I didn't know his great grandmother was a dark witch."

Voldemort hummed in agreement, "Very dark if her beauty is anything to go by."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Voldemort had slowed his pace so that Harry could take in his surroundings more thoroughly. As they passed Borgin and Burkes Harry learned that Voldemort had worked there for some time after he graduated from Hogwarts. But Harry's questions about why had gone unanswered and now was not the time to push for answers.

They found a group of Death Eater's crowded down the street from Moribund's, Yaxley, Greyback, and two that Harry didn't know but that Voldemort named Amycus and Alecto Carrow. Apparently they were as charming as they were deadly. But what had shocked Harry was when Severus Snape had joined the group and how they had greeted him with open arms. "Do not stare Harry, lest you call attention to yourself." So Harry had tucked his head down further and followed his companion a few more feet.

The Pub was fairly dingy on the outside and nondescript, Harry wouldn't have even noticed it had Voldemort not pointed it out. "Now Harry-"

But Harry cut him off and knocked on the door, determined to show Voldemort that he didn't need babying. He could do this. So he took a deep breath as a slot moved way and Harry glared at the blue eyes that revealed themselves. "Who are ya? What business do ya got here?"

Harry twisted his lips up into a sneer and, making sure his back was to the group of Death Eaters who were thankfully out of hearing range, pulled his hood back just slightly so that his face was revealed. His lips still curled into a sneer and his gaze hard Harry looked into widened blue eyes, "I'd like to rent a room at four."

Sure enough those wide blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and Harry did the first thing that popped in his head, "Should I have to look elsewhere I will make sure you never see again."

The man seemed shocked as his eyes widened again and he spoke, "Just a sec." The slat slammed closed and not thirty seconds later a pair of grey eyes appeared when the slat was opened again.

"Well well," an oily voice drawled and where the other man had been stunned this man seemed almost as if he were smirking. "Twenty galleons." Harry tossed a money bag, containing at least double that, through the opening.

"I'd like our privacy ensured and a bottle of your elven wine waiting."

The man, Moribund Harry presumed, opened the bag and then looked back to Harry. "Very well sir." With that the slat was shut and Harry turned to find Voldemort smirking at him with a gleam in his eyes.

"I must say I am impressed Harry." Harry didn't know which felt better, the praise from his companion or the dark smugness rolling through him.

With his hood back in place Harry and Voldemort wandered back into Diagon. Neither spoke, Harry's mind still reeling from how well he'd done and seeing Snape with a bunch of Death Eaters. But it wasn't safe to talk of such things here, so Harry was contented to go back through the Leaky Cauldron and let Vernon drive them back. Upon arriving back to Private Drive Harry nearly cackled at the sight of Dudley mowing the lawn, his shirt clinging grotesquely to him as it was drenched in sweat. Petunia was found standing in the middle of the kitchen staring blankly into space as a meal was already on the table.

"Kneel," he ordered as he and Voldemort sat down at the table. He watched with delight as Petunia kneeled and bowed her head to him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Voldemort asked, his crimson eyes alight with delight.

Harry nodded and dug in to the steak and potatoes Petunia had fixed him.

"What was with Snape? I thought he was Dumbledore's spy? Why would he be skulking around Knockturn?"

Voldemort hummed, "Severus Snape is a slippery man Harry. He is no more Dumbledore's as he is my own. He used your mother's death as a way into Dumbledore's good graces to save himself from Azkaban and he wormed his way back to me when I returned. He is a very complex man whose loyalties lay solely with himself. He is a dark wizard, no doubt about that, but he is careful to play both sides so that either way he wins."

"In fact," Voldemort mused aloud, "I suspect had you been sorted into Slytherin and become a dark wizard he would have much different towards you as well. After all, there were many who suspected that only an extremely powerful dark wizard could have defeated me."

Harry grinned ruefully, "If only I had taken Draco's hand on the train."

"The world would be a much different place," Voldemort agreed.

Harry finished his meal and ordered Petunia to take it away before turning back to Voldemort, "So how do we go about inviting Lady Parkinson?"

"Call her house elf after you have written her an invitation."

So Harry had Vernon drag his trunk up the stairs and kneel in the doorway as Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. Voldemort dictated what Harry should write and Harry copied it down.

_Dear Lady Parkinson,_

_I have heard of your esteemed reputation in the fashion world and would be delighted if you would meet with me today at four pm at Moribund's Pub. I have rented a room for our use. If this is inconvenient or unacceptable please let me know. If not, I will see you at four._

_Harry James Potter  
Heir to the House of Potter_

When the ink had dried Harry called the Parkinson elf, a creature the same size as Dobby and Kreature with large blue eyes and floppy ears, wearing a pillowcase with an emblem on the right hand corner. It hadn't acted bewildered when Harry had called it, it only bowed and promised to take the letter to his mistress before vanishing into thin air.

"We have three hours before we need to leave," Voldemort said as he steepled his fingers and paced in front of the window. "I am going to teach you a bit of parselmagic so that if anything ever happens you are free to harm those who should attack or anger you. Call one of your muggles." Anxious at the chance to learn parselmagic that could not be traced Harry called Vernon in and had him kneel in the center of the room.

Harry stood anxiously beside the fat muggle on the floor and looked to Voldemort. "Will this one be missed?" Harry thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, Vernon could always just disappear and it would be blamed on a Death Eater attack.

"Good, now the first thing to know with parselmagic is that unlike other magic, it is almost limitless. There are no incantations or wand movements to memorize, only intent. For parsel-wards and mind magic it is much trickier but for now we only need to teach you basics. Now focus your intent on the muggle, feel your magic and bid it in parseltongue."

Harry stared at Vernon for a long moment, every beating and every punishment flashing before his eyes, and before Harry knew it a single word dripped from his lips, _'break.' _Harry's magic welled up, almost as if it had been waiting for this very moment and was eager to do his bidding. A loud sickening crack was heard and a shriek tore through Vernon and Harry realized his hand was pointed to the man's now disfigured thigh.

"Very good, little serpent," Voldemort drawled behind Harry and while the possessive arm around his waist had his stomach fluttering Harry couldn't quell the urge for more.

_'Break,'_ This time his hand was pointed at the opposite thigh and Harry smiled and leaned his head back against Voldemort's shoulder as Vernon screamed.

_'Little serpent, perhaps a silencing ward would be appropriate.'_

So Harry cast one in parseltongue and when Voldemort confirmed it active Harry returned his focus to his muggle. _'Break',_ and this time Vernon shrieked not only in pain but at the sight of a bone sticking out of his calf, blood starting to pool on the floor. _'Break,'_ Harry whispered and fell back into Voldemort as Vernon continued to scream. Oh how he had longed for this. For years Harry had wanted this and now Voldemort was giving it to him on a silver platter. Cocooned in Voldemort's arms Harry had never felt more powerful or more safe.

So Harry continued, listening to the symphony that was Vernon's screams as Harry systematically broke bones in both legs and arms, building up to the final moment when Harry tilted his head and asked in delighted whisper, "Can I use the Cruciatus? Is it possible?"

Voldemort laughed and held Harry tighter as he ran his nose down Harry's neck, "Only in parseltongue _my little serpent._"

_"Crucio,"_ Harry whispered in glee as the muggle's broken body writhed on the floor. Harry wasn't sure which hurt worse, the Cruciatus curse or the broken limbs being twisted in angles unnatural for a human body. He held the curse for about a minute before he cut it off and watched his uncle yelp with each spasm of his broken body.

_'Oh my little serpent, how you surprise me so.' _Voldemort's hisses dripped like honey and a shiver of delight rolled down Harry's spine as a kiss was planted to the soft spot where Harry's shoulder and neck connected. And then there were teeth, sinking into his skin and Harry moaned as he arched back, closing the small gap between them.

Harry pointed his hand one last time and whispered, _"disembowel." _In the ecstasy of Voldemort around him, nuzzling his neck, and the screams of the muggle on the floor, his stomach tearing open and his intestines spilling up and out onto the floor, Harry felt his stomach coil so hard that he felt himself orgasm in Voldemort's arms.

Vernon gurgled for a split second before his head lolled to the side, his eyes glassy and unseeing. A manic laugh burst forth and Harry spun around in Voldemort's arms wrapping his own around the man's neck and pulling him down into a rough kiss. Harry bit at his lip but got no further as Voldemort bit back, a warm liquid dripping down his chin as Voldemort invaded his mouth, dominating him as he shoved Harry against the wall and explored his mouth as he pinned Harry's arms. Voldemort moved down, biting and nipping Harry's ear and neck, it took only moments before Harry was a mewling mess of need.

_"P-please…" _Harry hissed quietly, unknowingly slipping into parseltongue. This time Voldemort moaned and ground himself against Harry. But then cold air replaced the warmth of Voldemort's body and Harry moaned in protest.

"Wha-?" A dazed Harry asked as he looked to the extremely angry Voldemort.

"We can't." His words felt like ice water and Harry's body went numb. Of course they couldn't, this was Voldemort, the Dark Lord. Why would he want Harry-

"No no!" Voldemort raged and grasped Harry's face harshly, forcing Harry to look at him. "I am nothing more than a hallucination Harry. I don't have a corporeal form, no body!" Voldemort looked livid but Harry grabbed his hand and wrapped them around himself.

"But I can feel you!" He protested, though he knew Voldemort was right. How could you have more with a hallucination?

"It's all in your head Harry," Voldemort sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"So we'll wait." Harry answered firmly. He would wait a hundred years if he had to. The feeling of Voldemort wrapped around him…of him dominating him…Harry had never felt anything close to it and he would tear apart the world just to feel it again.

Voldemort looked up, as if surprised by this. "Harry I'm sure any girl or guy would happily share their bed with you."

Harry thought about that for a moment before he grimaced, sure they would. Ginny had been crushing on him for years and so had almost every other girl at Hogwarts come Valentine's Day. But even as their faces flew through his mind none had so much as sparked an interest in him let alone the fire that Voldemort ignited in him.

Like a bolt of lightning it struck Harry, he fancied the Dark Lord. It had gone from all-consuming hatred to an all-consuming need in a mere week. Harry crossed the few steps to Voldemort and wrapped his arms around the man, smiling happily when hesitant arms surrounded him. "I'll wait for you." Harry promised, not quite sure if Voldemort would believe him or that he knew entirely what that meant. All he knew was that in that moment, Voldemort had ceased to be the ex-nemesis and had become something more profound. Something Harry had never had before.

"Here," Voldemort interrupted Harry's inner monologue, his face expressionless. "I'll teach you how to dispose of a body."

Harry nodded silently, slightly hurt at the abrupt conversation. So he listened as Voldemort explained how to use parselmagic to banish a body. After a final look at his dead uncle Harry smirked and banished it, along with all the blood and guts that had spilled out onto the floor. It now looked just as it had, bare and nondescript.

"I suppose I should write Dumbledore in a few days and tell him my uncle has gone missing." Harry said, trying to keep his voice even and not let on to his inner battle over what had just occurred between them. Instead he pushed those thoughts away and let himself relish in the fact that he had gotten his revenge on his uncle.

"Yes." Voldemort said shortly, not even looking his way. Instead the man was staring out the window as if he were deep in thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You will find that most of the scene with Dumbledore at the Dursley's is from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I used direct quotes when Dumbledore is speaking to Harry about Sirius' will. Other than that, Enjoy. **

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Harry made his way back down into Knockturn Alley for the second time that day with his hood pulled up and Voldemort by his side. The man hadn't said a word since they had left Private Drive and Harry had to squash the need to ask the man about what was going on inside his head. He had told himself he would let whatever it was Voldemort was thinking about be, give him some time. But at the same time Harry desperately wanted to know.

Thankfully his appointment with Lady Parkinson was distracting him. Harry entered the pub; the charmed handle gave way and allowed him entrance to the place. Inside was much different than he had been expecting. The place was quaint and cleaner than the Leaky Cauldron, only instead of the friendly aura the previous pub held Moribund's place gave off an air of danger. There were three very pale men in the corner drinking from crystal goblets holding a red drink so dark it was almost black. The blonde man with blue eyes that seemed to glow flashed him a bloody smile revealing two razor sharp fangs and Harry realized they were vampires. He didn't look at them long, instead Harry turned his vision to the counter where the same blue eyes he had met earlier were watching him.

So with his lips curled in a sneer and his eyes hardened into a glare Harry made his way to the counter. "I'm rented a room for four o'clock." He drawled icily, a little icier than he had meant to actually. But Moribund didn't seemed phased and handed him a key with the number three engraved.

"Upstairs second door on the left." Moribund responded and dropped the key on the counter. Harry grabbed the key and tried to ignore the man's stare as he climbed the stairs. The room was nice enough, with a large fireplace with a fire already building and a house elf pouring wine into the crystal goblets. Two large deep green plush chairs were on either side of the fire place with a coffee table in between them. A plush black couch was at the end of the table facing the fire and on the opposite wall to Harry's left was a small bar. Up ahead were a small set of long stairs that lead to a bedroom. Harry checked his watch and found he was ten minutes early and with Voldemort still not talking Harry decided to sit in the chair to the left of the fire and took a sip of the fruity wine.

About five minutes of tense silence followed before the door opened and a woman who looked about thirty walked in. Her black hair was done up in an elegant style and her rosy robes went well with her tanned skin. "Ah, Mr. Potter. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."

"Use proper titles, Harry. She's testing you." Voldemort warned and Harry smiled.

"Not at all Lady Parkinson, I've only just arrived myself." Parkinson flashed a pearly white smile and unclasped her cloak; the house elf at her feet quickly hung it on the rack.

"Please sit, Lady Parkinson. Would you like some wine?" If she was at all curious why Harry had asked to meet with her she let nothing on. Instead she inclined her head and sat primly on the edge of her chair, crossing her legs. Harry handed her the other goblet and sat back down.

"Ask her how her daughter is doing, Harry."

Harry gulped and smiled at Lady Parkinson, "So how is Pansy doing? Is she enjoying her summer?" Personally Harry thought Pansy was annoying and clingy when it came to Draco but he pushed those thoughts aside. Voldemort wanted this and if he were to be honest it was a great plan.

"Oh you know my Pansy?" Lady Parkinson smiled brightly. "Well she went off to France for a few weeks to visit her Aunt. Apparently she bumped into Draco Malfoy who was visiting his grandmother and has been spending quite a bit of time with him." Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise; he hadn't known Draco had relatives in France. Lady Parkinson leaned forward and broke Harry from his thoughts, "But that's not why you invited me here is it? To ask after my daughter?"

Harry very nearly blushed at the implications and shook his head, "Erm, no it wasn't. You see I have a bit of a problem." Harry waved his hand towards his person and Lady Parkinson's lips curled into a sneer when Harry motioned to his clothes. "I have noticed that Madam Malkin's is very plebian and of course I have no desire to be left with these _muggle_ clothes." Harry sneered the word muggle and Lady Parkinson's eyebrows rose into her hairline.

"Very well done Harry, now bait her with a compliment." Voldemort whispered as he sat on the arm rest of Harry's chair.

"I have heard the girls in Hogwarts compliment your work and I thought who better to go to than the trend setter herself."

Lady Parkinson sipped her wine slowly, eyeing him as if trying to find deceit in his words. Apparently she found nothing because she set her goblet down and said, "I do not do mere school robes."

Harry smirked and nodded, "Of course not. You see I was raised in the muggle world so I am not quite sure what all a Wizarding wardrobe consists of, but I need an entire extensive one. Down to the undergarments and accessories."

Parkinson's eyes lit up like Harry had just made Christmas come early, "I would need at least ten thousand to have you looking like a proper heir to an Ancient and Noble house."

Voldemort leaned in, "Have Gringotts draw up the contract."

Harry nodded, "That's fine we can have Gringotts draw up a contract."

"Well then, let us begin shall we?" Lady Parkinson stood and untied the small purse from her waist and Harry watched fascinated as she flicked her wand and a tape measure and quick quotes quill along with a pad of parchment much too big to fit in the small bag zoomed out.

"It's an undetectable expansion charm," Voldemort supplied and Harry nodded.

"Now I'll need you down to your barest, so that I can get proper measurements." At this Harry hesitated. He had scars that littered his small frame and he wasn't exactly keen on showing them off to a woman he knew would gossip this entire meeting to others.

Before Harry could protest Lady Parkinson flicked her wand and suddenly he was left in his boxers, his clothes piled neatly on the chair he had just been sitting in. "Oh," Harry felt extremely embarrassed as her dark brown eyes took in his frame and he felt like jumping behind the chair. "Oh dear." She seemed as lost for words as Harry was but he was extremely glad she asked no questions. She seemed to think the best course of action was to get down to business and pretend she hadn't seen anything at all.

"Shh," Voldemort cooed to Harry as his lips briefly touched Harry's shoulder. "Do not be ashamed of your scars. They are reminders of what you have survived, how strong you are."

But the questions burning in Lady Parkinson's eyes as she raised his arm left Harry feeling out of sorts. The large purplish splotch on his forearm and the deep black veins from the venom of the Basilisk created a tense atmosphere but when she went to measure his torso and found the large red stripes she couldn't hold back the gasp. "Mr. Potter-" she broke off, obviously at a loss for words.

"Are we done?" He asked rather harshly and when she nodded Harry wasted no time putting Dudley's hand-me-downs back on.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Harry said stiffly before he turned for the door.

"Mr. Potter wait-" Harry reluctantly stopped and turned around.

Lady Parkinson was paler than death as she reached once more in her bag, her whole arm disappearing inside it for a moment before she withdrew a wallet of some kind. "Here," she said handing him a card that she pulled from it. "This- this is address for- for Lord Greengrass. He's an attorney that could help you file for emancipation."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, it was cold and cruel and even to his own ears rather frightening. He gave Lady Parkinson an evil smirk and said, "Don't worry Lady Parkinson, I've planned my own emancipation." Her face became impossibly paler and Harry turned, opened the door, and left.

The next day found Harry lounging on his bed as Petunia cooked a large meal downstairs and Dudley repainted the shed. He was going through his old textbooks, brushing up on material that he had not cared about before, and Voldemort was sitting beside him, running his fingers through Harry's hair and answering questions whenever needed. It hadn't taken long to go back through four years of texts, but Harry was struggling with some of the fifth year material, actually only one particular thing.

"It makes no sense," Harry growled and shoved the offending text away. "One of Gamp's Laws is that you cannot create something from nothing. Isn't that exactly what this is doing?"

Harry slammed his head down into the mattress and let out a heavy sigh as Voldemort ran a hand through his hair. "No, think about it Harry. You are not creating something you are conjuring them. You remember that serpent that Draco conjured in his second year, where the entire school learned of your parseltongue abilities?"

"How could I forget?" Harry asked, muffled from the mattress.

"That snake didn't come from thin air, it was conjured. Draco simply took it from wherever it was and brought it there. It is not creating something so much as it is force apparating whatever it is you are conjuring to you." Harry flipped over and looked to the older wizard.

"So essentially I'm taking one thing and bringing it to me from somewhere else. Why couldn't she just bloody say that?" Voldemort looked highly amused.

"Go downstairs and eat. Now that you have the last five years caught up I need you fed before I teach you something new." Harry looked up in excitement. The last time Voldemort had taught him something new it had led to his uncle's murder. Now what was in store?

Petunia had made homemade chicken salad sandwiches with a Caesar salad and as normal she kneeled in the kitchen, awaiting her turn to eat and then clean up. Dudley was staring into space when Harry had ordered him to do nothing, which was highly amusing. So Harry, minding the manners that Voldemort had been instilling into him, quickly devoured his lunch and looked to the man. "All right, what is it?"

Voldemort smirked and ordered outside, which was odd since it was growing dark but Harry merely shrugged and went out the back door. "You were eight when you first apparated. Do you remember that?"

Harry snorted, "Remember it? How could I forget? That earned me weeks in isolation in my cupboard."

"Did you know Harry that apparition without a wand is nearly impossible for most wizards?" Voldemort looked smug as Harry shook his head. "The ease in which you use your wandless magic, even if for little things, is not normal for others either. Most could not do such things. Yet, like I did when I had a body, it is a very normal thing for you. Over the next several weeks we will be working with this, but first, you will learn to apparate."

Harry barely managed to stop himself from gaping and looked warily at Voldemort. "That was when I was eight and scared for my life."

Voldemort only looked bored. "Now you have to be determined and have a clear destination." A ring of blue fire appeared next to him and Harry guessed that it too was a hallucination. "Now when weaker witches and wizards apparate there is a resounding crack that is loud and alerting. However wizards like myself can apparate without a sound. Though I very rarely ever apparate anymore."

Harry gave him a curious look, "Why not?"

"I prefer a method of transportation that I invented when I was travelling through Germany's Black Market." At Harry's questioning look Voldemort sighed, "I haven't named it but if you can apparate inside this ring I will show you what it looks like."

At that Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He thought of all the times he had seen a witch or wizard apparate and concentrated on the center of the ring. Nothing happened.

"Determination Harry, focus your mind on the center of the ring and with a deliberate step will yourself there."

So Harry pictured the center of the ring and felt his magic respond as he took a step. And then the world disappeared and he felt like he was being squished and his torso being crushed by wires. His eyes were being crushed into his skull and he couldn't breathe. It seemed to last an eternity before the rubber tube ended and Harry felt like he was hurling through the air and he landed on all fours, but he noticed with a triumphant smile, he was inside the ring of blue fire.

"I did it!" He exclaimed, too happy to really care about the horrible nausea that was churning in his stomach.

Voldemort nodded with a hungry smirk. "And without a sound."

As happy as Harry was to have been dubbed powerful by the lack of sound he couldn't help but remember that hazy day when he was eight. He had not felt that when he had ended up on the roof of his school, and he told Voldemort that.

"Different? How so?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, trying to recall how he had felt. "But I did not feel that."

Voldemort hummed in response, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. After a while he looked to Harry and said, "Try to do what you did then."

"But I don't know what I did then," Harry protested.

"And you don't know now either."

So Harry thought back to the hazy memory, Dudley had been chasing Harry with his gang. Harry had been terrified because he knew that if he were caught he'd be beaten. So he had run and run but then he had reached a dead end. There hadn't been anywhere else to go they were going to find him so Harry had jumped behind some trash cans, hidden in the shadows praying that they wouldn't find him but knowing they would. And that's when Harry felt it, the feeling of something cold, almost like wind, surrounding him and then he had found himself on the roof.

Harry had felt a comforting chill not this horrendous squishing and asphyxiating feeling of apparating.

What if… Harry didn't have to look but a few feet away to find a shadow as the gray sky provided plenty. He walked over underneath the tree and felt Voldemort watching him carefully. So Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment wondering if he was just being stupid or if this was truly something. So Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on that memory, of the feeling of cold comfort surrounding him.

"HARRY!" Harry panicked at Voldemort's scream and he opened his eyes only to find the world in black and white.

_'Harry, harry where are you?' _Voldemor's melodious voice was saturated with worry and Harry couldn't help but panic. What was going on?

_'I'm right here,' _Harry tried to say but he realized it didn't come out vocally but through a mind link of some sorts.

_'Where are you?' _Voldemort seemed even more anxious and Harry took a moment to observe his surroundings. He was still in his back yard, he could still see Voldemort chewing his lip and looking extremely pissed off. Only when Harry looked down he found he wasn't there. His body was gone. It had seemingly disappeared into shadows. It was as if Harry was only a consciousness now.

What was this? His mind was bursting with questions but his sense of adventure had him wanting to explore this new magic. So he willed himself to move and he found himself on the other side of the tree, a trail of black shadow following him. Again he moved, this time down on the ground and Harry felt a freedom the topped even his broomstick offered. He was sliding through shadows on the grass until he realized that he couldn't go any further. Almost instinctively he knew that if he moved out of the shadows he would rematerialize.

"Harry," Voldemort seemed almost in a panic now and Harry immediately moved forward out of the shadows and found himself on hands and knees at Voldemort's feet.

"Harry!" Voldemort yanked him up and his face seemed to go through every emotion known to man before it went blank. "What in the name of merlin-"

"I was a shadow!" Harry exclaimed excitedly, his grin so large that his cheeks were hurting.

Voldemort blinked and stayed quiet for a moment. "You were a _shadow_?"

"Yeah it was like my body just dematerialized and I was literally a shadow! The world was black and white and I could sort of just will myself to move. It was bloody amazing!" Harry watched Voldemort's blank mask turn thoughtful and the man let him go.

"Can you do it again?" He asked and Harry shrugged.

"It wasn't hard I can try."

At Voldemort's nod Harry stood back under the tree and concentrated. A cool breeze seemed to wash through him and when Harry opened his eyes he felt like shouting with glee. His body was gone and Harry was once again a shadow. This time he tested this new ability more, he flew high up into tree. The branches passed right through him as if he were a ghost and he slid down the other side before snaking around and facing Voldemort. Was this how he had gotten on the roof of that muggle school? Could this be used as transportation?

Harry decided to find out. So he thought about the shadows behind Voldemort and was disappointed when he felt his corporeal body return. But when he opened his eyes he was behind Voldemort and not in front of him! "Voldemort!" The man spun around in surprise and for the first time in Harry's life, he saw Voldemort gape.

"That's how I did it! It was the shadows!" Harry couldn't help but breathlessly exclaim loudly, his excitement at an all-time high. "I can literally use the shadows like doors!"

"It's not possible…" Voldemort breathed, looking at Harry as if he were looking at Merlin himself. "But it must be."

"What?" Harry asked, afraid that Voldemort would tell him that this was something bad. But Harry could care less, he didn't care if it were bad or evil…Harry snorted at that. Voldemort telling him something was evil? No whatever this was it had to be extremely powerful because Voldemort had no care about good or evil.

"Harry have you ever heard of a mage?" At this Harry shook his head, wondering if the tales in story books counted.

"There are wizards, very powerful wizards who have an affinity towards a certain element. I myself am a fire mage, Dumbledore is a water mage. Do you remember our duel in the ministry?" Harry nodded, he would never be able to forget that duel. It had been magic unlike any he had ever seen before. "Mages are born with an affinity for a certain element, capable of doing astounding feats with it. There have been lightening mages like Grindelwald, and even earth. But," here Voldemort stopped and took a breath as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around whatever it was he was trying to say. "But there are also shadow mages."

Harry gaped despite all the etiquette that Voldemort had been teaching him. He was a shadow mage? "But the difference between shadow mages and the rest, are that they are not born that way, they are made. Which makes them rare. For the shadows to accept a wizard…they have to be powerful and…" Voldemort trailed off seemingly as stunned as Harry felt. He was a shadow mage?

Had that been why he had been so content in his cupboard? Is that why he insisted on closing his curtains every night in the dorm to block out the moonlight? Why he felt at home in the dark?

"Incredible," Voldemort was inches away from Harry now and Harry jumped slightly as he hadn't noticed the older wizard move. A cool hand traced Harry's cheek and Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch.

_'My little mage,' _Voldemort hissed quietly, almost reverently.

The next two days Voldemort had Harry relentlessly practicing his apparition until Harry could apparate perfectly inside the ring fire without hardly a second thought. Harry had whined and pleaded to practice with the shadows but Voldemort was adamant that he know how to apparate first, apparently they would be learning how to apparate this year and Harry was going to need all his free time during the school year to practice with Voldemort. But as promised, when Harry was able to apparate without any problems Voldemort allowed Harry to close the blinds in his room and stuff an old shirt under the door, leaving the room pitch black. Harry was loving this new ability to roam about freely and according to Voldemort, undetected. Not only could he sweep along the floor but he could also climb the walls and float mid-air when he wasn't creeping along the ceiling. For hours Harry would drift through walls, though he had to be careful as the second he ran out of shadows his corporeal form was back and Harry suffered a fall from the ceiling in Dudley's bedroom.

It was a few days after the initial discovery of Harry's shadow mage abilities that two letters arrived, one from Ron and one from Gringotts. Voldemort read over the contract twice before he allowed Harry to sign it and send it on its way. The second letter was left on the desk as Harry stared at it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Voldemort asked after a few minutes of Harry just staring at the envelope.

"I forgot about them," Harry confessed, feeling a small twinge of guilt. "It feels like a lifetime has gone by and I honestly just forgot about him."

"Well then burn it." Harry threw Voldemort a glare though it really wasn't very angry. It was no secret Voldemort hated blood traitors. And if Harry was honest a part of him did want to burn it.

Harry sighed and opened the letter.

_Hey mate!_

_How's your summer going? Mums keeping us locked up at the Burrow and I think I'm going mad from being cooped up here for so long, but at least we can still play Quidditch. How's the muggles treating you? Hope your well. Hopefully soon we can get Dumbledore to bring you here, I need a seeker on my team cause Ginny's whoopin my butt. Oh yeah! Hermione's coming in a few days but you know her, she'd never get on a broomstick. Still it'll be great to have her. Has she written to you? She's been strangely quiet, first letter I got from her was asking to come stay before we head off to Hogwarts and if you'd be there. She didn't even ask if I did my homework. _

_Are you still grieving Sirius?_

_Well write back, hope your well._

_Ron_

Harry let the letter fall to the desk and sighed. Ron seemed like a lifetime ago. The brash crudeness now seemed annoying rather than quaint. After all the time Harry had spent with Voldemort going back to the Weasley's just seemed…wrong.

"What are you going to do?" Voldemort asked as he peered over Harry's shoulder. That was a good question, what was he going to do? There was no way Harry could confide in Ron about all that had happened. How he had changed. How he had murdered his uncle and basically Imperiused his aunt and cousin. How he had been learning parselmagic. How he had learned he was a shadow mage. And how he had basically joined Voldemort. Still, this was a good opportunity to find out what was going on with the Order and…

Harry sighed again and crumpled the letter before tossing it in the waste basket. It was easier if he just didn't go to the Burrow this summer. He still had so much that Voldemort had to teach him and if Harry were honest with himself, he preferred it when it was just him and the Dark Lord. He wouldn't have to hide their conversations or pretend the older wizard didn't exist.

Grabbing Voldemort's hand Harry drug him to the bed and laid down, practically forcing the Dark Lord to lay down next to him. Harry curled up on his chest and when Voldemort made no protest Harry relaxed and melted into the man. "I'm different now."

"The question is how different."

Harry frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Voldemort's hand found Harry's hair and Harry smiled, preening at the touch. "You could always decline and make up an excuse. Perfectly acceptable if you can't betray those who call you friend. Or you could go, and gather information. Pretend nothing has changed and deceive them all."

"I suppose we do need the information." Voldemort hummed in agreement. "But do you think I could pull it off? I mean after all I've learned, all I've done…"

"So your worry is not about betraying them, but if you would be caught?" Voldemort's question only highlighted how much Harry had changed and he wondered if he should feel bad about it.

"I suppose," Harry agreed, "But I also don't want to give this up."

"You have a few days before you must answer. In the mean time I suggest tomorrow you have the muggle file a police report for her husband and you contact Dumbledore. If you are willing to play spy then this will be a great reason for the Boy-Who-Lived to turn to his headmaster." Harry hummed in agreement, resigned to the fact that he would in fact be playing spy.

"What about tonight?" Harry asked, wondering because they still had hours until nightfall.

"You're healing potions are done so you are back to relatively perfect health. I suggest we fix your eyes."

Harry nearly jumped off the bed in excitement. Voldemort had been adamant that they wait until both the core stabilizer and the healing potions be thoroughly absorbed before adding anything else into his system. "You know this will hurt right?" Voldemort asked as Harry bounced off the bed and opened his wardrobe.

"I know, but like you said glasses are an unnecessary weakness."

Harry ate those words not ten minutes later when Dudley was ordered to hold him down and Petunia stood over him dosing each eye with the purple medicine. "Don't scratch at them, just close your eyes and bear it." Voldemort tried to tell him but Harry only cursed him with every swear word he knew.

It felt like his eyes were being burned from their sockets and Harry desperately wanted to itch them, or more likely claw them out. Thankfully the potion took mere minutes for the agony to fade and give way to an annoying itch that he could handle on his own and Harry sent the muggles away. He was content to hold his pillow over his face and call Voldemort even more curses. The man merely smirked at him and told him he was acting childish.

It took an hour before the itching stopped and it was safe for Harry to open his eyes. He was absolutely bewildered by the clarity and sharpness that even with his glasses, Harry had never seen before. It was stunning. Where once were blobs and blurry features Voldemort's face was crisp and angular, his eyes startling in their depth, the crimson looked as if it were actually swirling blood. The room was in much better focus and he could see everything from the chipped wood of the wardrobe to the scuffs on the floor.

"Was it worth it?" Voldemort asked smugly, most likely already knowing it was.

"Definitely," Harry answered with a grin.

Harry reached for the old glasses on his bedside table gave them a parting smirk before he hissed, _'banish.' _ The glasses disappeared and Harry grinned before jumping back on the bed and pulling Voldemort down with him.

Preparations had to be made before Harry could mail off the letter to Dumbledore about his "missing" uncle. And for this, Harry was completely unqualified. Voldemort had had to possess Harry, like he had when he had healed him, and go deep into the minds of both Petunia and Dudley. The past week they had spent as Harry's slaves had had to be completely wiped and presuming Dumbledore himself would come, Voldemort had had to create false memories in their place. Harry had been amazed as he watched from the subconscious as Voldemort tore through their minds erasing any traces of magical slavery. Harry likened it to watching the duel back in the ministry. He had never seen anything like it and Harry felt a new level of awe for the man. It had also sparked a desire to learn the mind magics.

But Voldemort had made Harry a deal, after all his summer homework and if Harry was, with Voldemort's tutoring of course, completely caught up with the next year, then Voldemort would teach him Occlumency and Legilimency. Of course as excited as Harry was to learn the mind arts, he dreaded knowing that that would only add to the list of things Voldemort would be tutoring him in. This coming year Voldemort was planning on teaching him Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, the mind arts, the dark arts, and the more advanced parselmagic. Harry knew that with all of this there would be no time for Quidditch, though that that didn't perturb him at all, because now Harry had a new freedom…his shadows. And that was a freedom that far surpassed any broomstick.

So after Petunia and Dudley had had their memories altered and were released from the magical slavery, much to Harry's disappointment, they had sent the letter to Dumbledore and waited. Petunia had been a wreck as she filed a police report and Dudley had not stopped wailing for hours, so Harry had made his way to a little café in the subway station with Voldemort and the Daily Prophet in tow. The gloomy atmosphere was beginning to grow on Harry and he found he wasn't as put out at never seeing the sun. The storms, as horrendous as they were, were actually relaxing. And left Harry feeling a bit excited for the even worse things to come.

"Do you prefer coffee?" Voldemort asked as Harry stirred his cup that a caramel colored waitress with wild curls had brought to his table.

"Yes, it's stronger than tea."

They sat in comfortable silence as Harry read about the disappearances and the new preventive measures that Minister Srimgeour had put in place to protect the people from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But Harry found it boring quickly and folded the paper back up. "When do you think Dumbledore will show?" Harry asked as he sipped his coffee.

"Sooner than you might think," Voldemort said with a deep frown and frosty eyes. Harry followed his companion's eyes and found Dumbledore across the way. Harry only caught a brief glimpse before a subway was speeding by and by the time it had ended Dumbledore was gone. Harry sighed deeply but couldn't help but smile as he felt Voldemort take his hand. "It has started, _little serpent."_ Harry silently threw some muggle money on the table and walked back up the stairs to the main street, unsurprised to find Dumbledore waiting with a benevolent smile.

"You can do this little serpent," Voldemort murmured and placed his hand on the small of Harry's back.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed with a forced enthusiasm. "I'm so glad you got my letter."

Relief passed through Dumbledore's eyes and Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. "My dear boy it warms my heart to see you looking so healthy. Come, let us walk and talk. It is not safe to be out so late alone."

Harry dipped his head and nodded. "Do you think you can find him Professor?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence and looked to his headmaster. Harry wondered what was going on in the man's head. He was probably happy for the muggle going missing, after all, his precious weapon had once again returned to him. Voldemort snorted loudly and Harry glanced at him with a small smirk.

"I promise you Harry that I will do my very best to find him, but you must be prepared for the very real possibility that Lord Voldemort has already killed him." Dumbledore's face was grave and his eyes lost their twinkle. Harry frowned and bowed his head.

"Now let us talk of such things inside, it is unwise to do so here. You never know who is listening and I have a few important topics to discuss with you." Harry nodded obediently and fell quiet.

"I wonder what is so important," Voldemort murmured to himself, though he never took his hand away from Harry's back.

At long last they arrived at Private Drive and while Harry invited his Professor in, Petunia Dursley had other plans. "YOU!" she shrieked in her nasally voice as she pointed a thin boney finger at Dumbledore. "You-Your-"

"My dear woman, I am Albus Dumbledore. The man who has corresponded to you via mail." Dumbledore answered calmly, as if that would soothe the raging woman.

"YOU promised us we'd be SAFE!" Petunia shrieked and red puffy eyes welled up with large tears again. "He's gone…he's gone….MY HUSBAND!"

For his part Dumbledore did look terribly sad and Harry watched in a morbid fascination as Dumbledore conjured a bottle of Firewhiskey and two goblets, as if that would calm her. "NO NO! No more freakishness in this house! I WANT YOU BOTH OUT! NOW!" Petunia looked on the verge of a total mental collapse and Harry wondered if she might try to attack Dumbledore. He wished she would, that would be a memory worth gold.

"Mrs. Dursley I understand your grief but surely in such times family needs to stick together." Dumbledore sat on one of the large chairs as if he owned the place and Harry briefly wondered if she'd grab one of her large kitchen knives to attack him with.

That is until Petunia shrieked, "It was him!" She pointed that boney finger at Harry and he felt his blood turn to ice. No. There was no way. She couldn't-

"Shhhh, my little serpent." Voldemort cooed in his ear and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "There is no way she remembers anything." Harry felt himself relax at Voldemort's words and watched as Petunia continued to rant.

"If he hadn't been here my husband would still be alive! I WANT YOU BOTH OUT!" Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words before he nodded his head in defeat.

"My dear woman if I could ask for just enough time for Harry and I to discuss arrangements and to pack we will leave your home." Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise before looking to Petunia who looked more mad than Harry had ever seen her.

"Fine but then I want you out!" Petunia snapped and stomped up the stairs.

Dumbledore looked to Harry with sad eyes and Harry had bite back a smirk that threatened to curl his lips. Instead Harry bowed his head and waited for Dumbledore to speak. "My dear boy…" he sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm so sorry to have to bring this up now of all times but it seems we have no choice."

"It's okay headmaster," Harry replied dutifully, truly curious as to what could be so important.

Voldemort scoffed as Dumbledore sighed and Harry couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous face before realizing in horror that he had just done so and turned it into a cough. Dumbledore seemed not to notice but Voldemort was smirking. Dumbledore summoned a glass of the amber liquid and caught it in his right hand and at the same time Harry noticed, Voldemort gasped and moved closer to Dumbledore.

"Sir- your hand-" It was blackened and gnarled, shriveled as if his flesh had been burned away.

"Not now Harry," Dumbledore replied calmly while Voldemort let loose a stream of foul curses that had Harry looking to him in confusion. "Please, sit down." So Harry sat down on the couch beside his headmaster, unable to tear his eyes away from the crippled hand.

"It seems Harry," said Dumbledore turning towards him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I of course mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first I must tell you that Sirius' will was discovered a week ago and that he left you with everything he owned." Harry blinked in surprise. Shit he had forgotten about Sirius as well. Was he meant to be broody over this whole thing? Shit. Harry looked to Voldemort which was probably the last thing he should have done in that situation because Voldemort knew absolutely nothing when it came to grief over family. Hell he killed his. Shit Harry was one third of the way through his family.

"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on, oblivious to Harry's dilemma. "you add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius' personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy is Grimmauld Place." Harry tried to keep up with what his headmaster was saying but there were so many questions running through his head and the anger that was licking through his veins made it nearly impossible to concentrate.

Obviously Dumbledore was waiting for him to say something and Harry wondered what was appropriate to say. What would he have said a few weeks ago? "I- I – um don't mind if you continue using Grimmauld as headquarters. But I'd like to retrieve a few personal things from there first."

"That is very generous of you Harry," Dumbledore said smiling, "But we have temporarily vacated the building."

"Why?"

"Well," Dumbledore said, "Black family tradition decreed the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black,' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

Harry could easily picture the shrieking portrait of Walburga Black and he grinned ruefully, "I'll bet there has."

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius' living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange." The pale woman with coal black eyes and wild messy curly hair flashed in his mind. _'You have to mean it Potter…righteous anger won't hurt me for long….' _Bellatrix was a formidable dueler and Harry remembered her and Sirius' duel with sparkling clarity. She hadn't been out for blood, not like she had been when she had taken on other Order members. That duel had been like a duel between siblings, hateful and playful, neither trying to kill but to one up the other for bragging rights. Like he had seen the twins do so often. Bellatrix hadn't killed Sirius, she had stunned him. He had fallen through the Veil of Death and died.

But still…Harry wanted Grimmauld. There were centuries worth of magic in that house and it was his. "No," Harry ground out, nearly growling.

"Well obviously we would prefer she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius' hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."

"So how do we find out if I own it?" Harry asked, silently pleading for Voldemort to say something, anything. The man was staring at Dumbledore's hand with such intensity Harry was worried it might catch fire and defile it even more.

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test. You see if you have inherited the house you have also inherited-" Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore was talking about the moment he trailed off and it came to no surprise as Dumbledore flicked his wand and with a loud _crack _a house elf appeared. Kreacher was small and frail with bloodshot eyes and his snout for a nose dripping as if he had been in the middle of crying.

"Kreacher," Dumbledore finished saying.

"Kreacher won't! Kreacher won't! Kreacher won't!" The house elf sobbed into hands. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't won't-"

"Enough," Harry roared and sneered at the elf. He understood the elf's plight but that didn't mean Harry was going to tolerate this annoying screeching.

Kreacher abruptly shut up and his hands went to his throat. His large eyes went even wider as he made a choking noise and then fell over on his back, his twiggy arms and legs sticking straight up in the air as if he had died.

"Well," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "that that simplifies matters. It seems Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

Harry looked down at the pathetic elf and wondered briefly if he should let Dumbledore decide what to do with it, but that idea was quickly tossed out of the window. Having a house elf, no matter how insane, was useful. And Harry wasn't about to turn away such a useful thing. "Kreacher go upstairs and pack my things in my trunk, including the stuff in my wardrobe."

Kreacher shot him a hateful look before disappearing and Harry decided he'd put a stop to that as soon as Dumbledore was gone. Speaking of Dumbledore, the man looked vaguely disappointed but it was gone in a second and he continued on. "Now, there is also the small matter of the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius passed away, but Buckbeak is now yours, so if you would prefer to make other arrangements-"

"No," Harry cut in, "he can stay with Hagrid."

"Hagrid will be delighted," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decide, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him Witherwings for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the Hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, all we have to do is wait on your trunk-"

With that Kreacher and Harry's trunk appeared and Harry pierced the elf with a searching gaze, "You packed everything?"

"Yes," the elf ground out as if the word were acid on his tongue.

"Well then," Dumbledore looked around once more, "I will speak to Mrs. Dursley at a later date as she is not in a very healthy emotional state. I think the best thing we can do for now, is to leave."


End file.
